Kidnapped
by sayrae3times
Summary: Clark isn't a meteor freak, but the scientist bent on discovering what makes him tick doesn't know that. Chlark.
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **__Smallville__ and its characters are copyright ©2006 Warner Bros. & DC Comics. This disclaimer goes for all chapters._

* * *

**Day 1 – **_**Sometime around 6:00 PM**_

Lana Lang smelled wonderful. Clark shut his eyes and breathed her in, the sweet scent of jasmine that was her favorite – and his – and silently thanked Mrs. Harpshore for pairing them for their 3rd quarter Biology report. Lana was busy scribbling notes in her binder when she noticed Clark had stopped.

"Clark? You okay?"

_Oops._ Clark blinked. _Busted._

"Yeah. Sorry, it's just…uh…a little difficult to concentrate."

The words came out before he realized what he had said. Face burning, he smiled sheepishly at her. To his relief, Lana smiled back.

He could lose himself completely in that smile – the one that wrinkled her perfect little nose and made her eyes shine even brighter. "We can stop if you want," Lana said with a sly grin. "We're almost done. I'm sure we can finish this tomorrow."

"No, no," he quipped. "We've just about finished section four and I am _not_ asking Mrs. Harpshore for another extension."

"Amen to that."

Clark tipped his chair back, more relaxed than he had been in…well…a long time. Lana just had that effect on him. "What I am going to do, though, is get a glass of lemonade before Biology fries my brain. You want some?"

Lana shot him a mock glare. "You know you could fall doing that."

"Okay mom." He ignored her and stood. "Ice or no ice?"

He was rewarded with a giggle. "Ice, please."

Clark crossed into the kitchen, his keen ears picking up everything along the way, from the lowing of the cattle in the field across from the barn to the faint rumble of his parent's old Chevy. The latter was probably still a mile or so away, but it told him they would be home soon.

The thought of his parents made Clark smile. He wondered if every son or daughter thought they had the best parents in the world.

It didn't matter; he really _did_ have the best parents in the world. Not just anyone would willingly take in a strange boy who, quite literally, "fell from the sky." The Kents possessed a kindness and integrity that far surpassed Clark's understanding. Anyone else would have called the authorities or left the alien child stranded.

Clark smiled over his lemonade when his father opened the screen door with a booted foot and carefully inched his way inside, balancing two baskets of tomatoes, one on each hip. His mother was right behind him, carrying several grocery bags and her purse.

Jonathan Kent was in his early forties, the picture of how an honest, decent man carried himself. He was a second-generation Kent; his father, Hiram Kent, had built their farm from the ground up, instilling in his son a belief in hard work for idle hands, making do or doing without. Jonathan's weather-beaten skin and tousled blond hair only served to show that he still lived life by the lessons his father left behind. Hiram Kent had been a hard man, and a difficult father, but for all of that, Jonathan remained a generous and warm-hearted individual, intent on having the kind of relationship with his son that he had never had with his own father.

It had been difficult at times, Clark knew. Not every father struggled with counseling a child whose growing pains consisted of incredible strength and heat vision, as well as peer pressure and grades. In the end, though, the trust and respect between the two Kents had grounded deep. There wasn't anything Clark couldn't tell his father and there wasn't anything Jonathan wouldn't do for his son.

And then there was his mother. With her fine sense of integrity, volatile good nature, and independent attitude, Martha Kent was a perfect match for his father. A gracious, energetic, and capable woman, Martha had bright, intelligent eyes set in a broad-cheeked face and shoulder-length red hair. She was the kind of woman who was quick to smile, but equally as quick to frown if the need arose, and when she spoke her mind no one was left in doubt as to where they stood in her graces.

Clark couldn't have asked for better.

"Hey guys," Martha greeted cheerfully.

Lana waved. "Hey Mrs. Kent."

"How's the biology final coming?"

"Almost finished," Clark answered for her.

"Well, I imagine we'd get more done if Clark could just concentrate," Lana teased. She threw him another playful look, one Clark countered by throwing up his hands.

"Hey. I can't help it if I find homework mentally challenging."

"Well, why don't you two take a break and Clark can go feed the chickens," Martha suggested. "The feed bag is in the back of the truck."

Clark made a face. "Now?"

She grimaced apologetically. "They'd appreciate it. They're starving."

He nodded. Although his parents hated talking about their financial situation in front of him, Clark knew that money had been short this month and they had run out of chicken feed days ago. He gave Lana a lopsided grin. "I guess I'll be back in a few minutes. You mind hanging out for a while?"

"No, no, I'll come with you," she replied, standing and grabbing her pink jacket. "I could use the air."

Jonathan and Martha exchanged knowing smiles, not lost to Clark. With one look from his son, Jonathan raised his eyebrows and began whistling to himself, turning back to his work in a very bad attempt to not attract any more attention. Martha laughed and began unloading the grocery bags.

Grabbing his own jacket from the chair, Clark led Lana toward the front door. "Chloe and Pete are gonna stop by when they're done with their report. Just let them know we're outside if they show up."

"Okay, honey."

* * *

Clark tore open the chicken feed and, stealing another glance in Lana's direction, began filling a small bucket with it. She looked so out of place on a farm. Not as much as Chloe, he mused, but still.

The fact of the matter was, as far as Clark was concerned, Lana Lang was the most beautiful creature on earth. Her black hair was pulled back into two braids, hanging loosely about her shoulders, stray strands of hair framing her face. She wore a beaded white shirt and hip-hugger blue jeans that showed off the soft curves of her hips. A pink jacket covered her slender arms, further accented by her pink boots.

_Boots. _Clark shook his head. _That's how you can tell she's a country girl._

Lana saw Clark glance her way again and couldn't help but smile to herself. Although it was no big secret that he liked her, for some reason, Clark had always held back. She had never pushed him, choosing instead to keep an emotionally fair distance away in order to try to figure out the mystery that was Clark Kent.

One thing she knew for sure was that he took the whole innocent farm-boy persona to a new level. Clark was the picture of chivalry, always insisting on opening doors for both Lana and Chloe, always looking out for them, always willing to help. He was honest, genuine and loyal, and Lana had no doubt that he would take a bullet for any one of his friends.

She admired Clark's muscular build, not to mention his dark hair and vivid blue eyes. It was refreshing really, to be attracted to someone so different. At the beginning of Freshmen year she had found herself lost in the stereotypical high school life of the popular – the cheerleader dating the jock, captain of the cheerleading squad and the star quarterback of the football team. Everybody's favorite couple. Whitney had been good to her, but she had always hated that image. It hadn't been his fault, it just wasn't who she was, or who she wanted to be.

Clark wasn't any of those things. He had never seemed to care about the clothes he wore or what people thought of him. Clark was Clark…simple as that. In his plain white T-shirt and jeans, which suited him far more than a football jersey, brown farm boots, looking a little worse-for-the-wear, as did his jacket, these things were all a part of Clark Kent. She wouldn't change him for the world…

_Well, maybe there's one thing I'd change_, she thought bitterly, thinking of all the times she had tried to get him to open up to her, only to have him clam up. Intimate conversations did not seem to be part of the all strong-and-silent.

The chickens squawked happily as Clark threw them their first meal in days.

"So, how's life on the farm?" Lana asked conversationally, pushing a strand of sleek black hair behind her ear.

Clark's face darkened, just like it always did when a situation came up that he didn't want to discuss and, for a moment, Lana thought he would change the subject. To her surprise, however, he answered. "It's been a little rough," he said slowly. "Money's been a little hard to come by. It's not affecting our lifestyle but I know it's been stressing out my parents. Ever since the tornado and all the repairs we've had to do to the farm, things around here just haven't been the same."

"I think that day messed up a lot of things," Lana said sadly.

Clark frowned. "It wouldn't be so bad, really, but then mom and I got sick and with all the hospital bills…" he cut off, setting down the bucket and leaning against the wooden fence that he and his dad had built together. The sun was just starting to set on the horizon, painting the sky in rich purples and oranges. "I feel bad sometimes. I mean, there's nothing I can do but I hate to see them worry."

Lana leaned against the fence next to him and covered his hand with hers. "I know it's hard, but you've got to believe that your parents will pull through it. Your family is strong. You'll get past this."

Clark nodded, still looking out over the horizon, before covering her hand with his. Her hand was so much smaller and it fit perfectly in his own. "Thank you, Lana."

She laughed. "For what?"

"For being you," he answered simply, lifting his head to gaze at her.

For an endless moment their eyes met. Lana swallowed, a lump suddenly present in her throat. His eyes, clear as crystal and just as piercing, drew her in and she found herself wondering how Clark would react if she leaned forward and…

...to her disappointment, and somewhat relief, Clark looked away, smiling sheepishly and turning back to the Kansas sunset.

The sun had almost disappeared, the clouds taking on a luminous orange glow against the purple sky. A light breeze had picked up, giving the cornfield a life of its own in the fading light.

"It's beautiful," Lana said, finding her voice.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he replied, and Lana turned to see he was looking straight at her. She blushed, knowing there had been hidden meaning in his declaration, and looked back at the sunset.

* * *

Martha heard the car pull into the drive but didn't bother looking up from putting away her groceries. Clark had said Pete and Chloe would be stopping by. Even Lex Luthor was known to drop in unexpected from time to time, so she wasn't concerned when the screen door opened without a knock.

"Pete, Chloe, is that you?" she asked, opening the fridge and sliding a jug of milk inside. There was an empty one on the shelf below. She grabbed it and made a mental note to inform Clark that he'd been busted again.

She turned…

…and screamed.

* * *

Clark and Lana heard Martha's scream. They exchanged one quick, terrified look before breaking into a run towards the house.

Jonathan met them midway. "What's going on?" Clark shouted to him.

"I don't know," his dad called back, "But that scream came from your mother!"

Using his special vision, Clark looked past the screen door of the house and through the wall. He saw clearly two people in the kitchen. With a swallow of alarm, he realized one of them was lying sprawled on the floor. _Mom!_

They reached the back door in seconds and Jonathan barreled inside. Clark turned to Lana, his eyes wide with fear. "Stay out here," he said hurriedly. "Find someplace to hide and no matter what happens, don't come out until you know it's safe."

Lana nodded, too frightened to object. Clark raced inside as sounds of a struggle began to pour through the screen door. Panicked, she looked for a place to hide.

_There! _A bush next to the window. She scrambled beneath it, the brambles scraping at her face and arms. She ignored them, too terrified to care. Clark had looked truly frightened.

Clark never looked frightened.

Crawling, she made her way toward the window, trying desperately not to move the bushes and give her hiding place away, but she had to see what was going on.

* * *

Clark didn't have time to make sure Lana found a hiding spot. He hoped desperately she was okay. He tore through the back door, only half-heartedly trying not to rip the screen door off at its hinges, and zipped through the living room and dining room at super-speed. All at once, like it always was, the world around him went into slow motion. In less than a second he surveyed the room – his mom was crumpled on the floor, a pile of groceries and broken glass scattered the linoleum around her. His dad was pressed against a wall, the stranger in front of him holding him by the neck. Jonathan Kent was red-faced as the intruder worked to cut off his air supply.

"Dad!" Clark shouted. The distraction was just enough for Jonathan to make his move. He thrust out his knee, kicking the stranger in the gut. While the man was still vulnerable, Clark meant to zip up to him, knock him out with his super-strength, and be done with it - but suddenly, he found, he couldn't use his speed. In fact, he was starting to feel very weak.

A familiar chill raced up his spine. _No, not now!_

Jonathan, in the meantime, had pulled himself to his feet and lunged at his attacker. The stranger slammed into the table, groping blindly for something to use as a weapon. He found it in the form of a wooden chair.

Clark moved to intercept, but he was too slow. His father crumpled to the ground.

The man immediately turned on Clark, swinging high. Clark caught his fist right before it could connect with his jaw and delivered a punch with his other hand. The punch, however, was not what it should have been. He should have been able to knock his opponent clear across the house and through the wall. Instead, the man hit the screen door and bounced back. He swung several more times, Clark managing to either dodge or block all but the last. Finally, the stranger's fist connected. He stumbled, unconsciously turning his back on the stranger.

A strong hand took hold of his shoulder and spun him around. Clark, expecting another punch to have been thrown, was surprised when instead something was sprayed into his face; something that made his skin tingle and his eyes sting. He choked, his breath suddenly leaving him.

The world spun, Clark's vision spinning with it. He doubled over in pain, vertigo hitting him like a mack truck. In the instant before he collapsed he saw Lana's tiny face, unseen outside the living room window, her big brown eyes shining with tears and a look of horror etched across her features. His last coherent thought before the agony overwhelmed him was that he hoped she stayed hidden long enough to escape his same fate.


	2. Chapter 2

Pete sat in the front seat of Chloe's car and stared out the window at the blur of passing trees. "I'm telling you! Kelly Pentigan in 4th period thinks you're hot," his friend insisted, taking her eyes off the road to glance at her friend. He hated it when she did that. Chloe wasn't exactly the most careful of drivers. She always drove like a woman on a mission and if it had been up to Pete, he would be the one behind the wheel.

But unfortunately, he wasn't, so he bounced along with the car as they sped over ruts and potholes left in the road by tractors and other pieces of farm machinery. Chunks of dirt and rocks scraped the undercarriage of her car, but Chloe didn't seem to care. She had long since stopped complaining about driving on dirt roads. It used to drive her crazy, Pete remembered. Now though, she was probably used to it.

He glanced at his friend again and grinned. "Yeah, whatever," he said, fishing for more information, if only to keep his mind off how fast she was going. "Then why does she have Trent Lovell hanging all over her every lunch period?"

Chloe rolled her eyes, a typical Chloe-Sullivan trait. "She's playing hard to get, Pete."

The car hit a pothole and they both came about an inch off their seats. Instinctively, Pete reached for the handle on the door, wishing she would slow down just a little bit.

This wasn't Metropolis, this was Smallville – and if anyone didn't look like they belonged in Smallville, it was Chloe Sullivan. Before her family moved here, Chloe had lived in Metropolis and every part of her screamed big-city, from her short, stylish pixie cut to her outrageously fashionable clothes. Pete didn't care much for fashion, but he admired Chloe's individualism. In fact, there was a lot Pete admired about Chloe, even though she secretly only had eyes for Clark. Chloe was of average height, slender, and had an eccentric beauty that was purely unique. The smiles that lit up her face, especially when she was on a hot new story, gave her an inner radiance that could only be matched by her passion for journalism.

_Passion? Or obsession?_ Pete thought dryly. He remembered the first time Chloe had gotten a hate-letter in response to an article she had written. She was so happy. _Who gets happy when they get hate-mail?_

They bounced over yet another hole in the road and this time, Pete couldn't resist. "Hey speed freak, easy on the potholes. I'd like to get to Clark's house in one piece."

Chloe just smiled and didn't bother slowing down. Even though she had lived in Smallville since before their freshmen year, she still drove like she had taken Driver's Ed in Metropolis.

Ahead, a cloud of dust collected around the road as another car approached. The Kent farm was just coming into view and they passed underneath the driveway gate on the outskirts of their property. _At least we're almost there_, Pete thought.

The approaching car, a dark gray sedan, was coming fast and Chloe had to veer to the side of road to miss a head-on collision. It sped by without stopping, kicking rocks and dust into the air and creating an annoying haze that prevented them from seeing who was leaving the farm in such a hurry. "That was rude!" she grumped indignantly, "Ten to one says that was Lex Luthor."

"I don't know," Pete said, "Doesn't billionaire baldie prefer flashier cars?"

"Honestly, I don't know what Clark sees in him," Chloe fumed, parking the car next to the cute little country fence outside the Kent's house. She popped the door open, sending clouds of dust inside.

Pete coughed and got out of the car. The first thing he noticed was the screen door had been left open. The second thing he noticed was it was ripped.

It was suddenly apparent how quiet the old farmhouse was. Dread and the premonition of something terribly wrong crept its way into Pete's gut.

The cold he felt canceled out any hesitation and he sprinted for the door.

"Pete!" Chloe cried sharply. Only the panic in her voice stopped him. He spun to see his friend white-faced and pointing to the side of the house where a figure came stumbling toward them.

It was Lana, her eyes wide and all color drained from her face. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks and she was visibly trembling.

She looked as if she would fall. Pete jumped to catch her but Chloe got to her first. Sure enough, Lana collapsed into her friend's arms.

"Lana, what's wrong?" Chloe asked urgently.

"He took him…that man...he did something to him…He took him…he took him…" she babbled.

"Lana, calm down," Pete said firmly, "Calm down. Who took him?"

"Lana, what's going on?" Chloe interjected.

"Clark…"

* * *

He was getting sicker by the minute. Clark's awareness wavered and he blinked unsteadily. He was vaguely aware that he was lying face down in the backseat of a car; a backseat that was far too small for a young man of his size.

He tried lifting his head. The car bounced, and the action caused something warm to trickle down his lip to splatter on the seat beneath him.

Lifting an arm that felt impossibly heavy, he touched his upper lip. His fingers came away sticky with…

…_.Blood?_ His nose was bleeding?

_No way._

The car jolted again and Clark's head reeled. He had broken out in a cold sweat, despite the fact that his skin felt as if it were on fire.

He tried pushing himself up. It took all his strength just to roll himself over.

Dizzy and exhausted, Clark sagged against the seat, watching sullenly as the Kansas countryside zipped by. They were heading northeast. It was the last thing he remembered before he slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

It took Pete nearly a minute to remember where he was. A worried glance from Chloe jolted him back to the present and he turned, barreling up the porch stairs and into the house.

The screen door was ripped, swinging slightly, and the kitchen torn apart. There had obviously been some kind of scuffle here. Martha Kent lay in a heap on the floor just beside the refrigerator, groceries and a shattered jug of milk scattered around her. "Mrs. Kent!"

"Oh god, Mr. Kent!" came Chloe's voice. Pete turned to see Chloe rush to where Jonathan Kent sprawled awkwardly against the wall of the dining room. Broken pieces of wood and half a chair littered the ground around him.

"What happened here?" Pete said, frantically searching the house with his eyes. Clark was nowhere to be seen. "Chloe! Call the police!"

* * *

Consciousness toyed with Clark. He had no idea how long they drove, only that when the car finally stopped he could neither move nor even open his eyes to see what was going on; it was as if all his strength had been zapped out of him.

Strong arms grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him out of the back seat. He was then lifted fireman-style and carried for some distance, only to be unceremoniously dropped upon arriving at their destination.

The impact sent a jarring pain throughout his body and he cried out, only to find his voice muffled by a gag.

_What the…?_ he thought dimly, _I've been kidnapped?_

The realization hit him before he had time to fully explore the reality. It shouldn't have been possible; there wasn't a man alive who could hold him down. At the age of five Clark could lift a tractor. He could see through walls, burn things with his eyes. _This isn't possible!_

With great effort, Clark opened his eyes. At first, all he saw was bright, unforgiving light. Then, as his eyes focused, he saw that the light was coming from a lamp above his head, similar to the illuminating devices dentist's use.

Turning his head, he found himself in a derelict and dimly lit room. Metal shelves containing beakers, test tubes, and retorts lined the walls. A dingy plastic sheet dangled from the ceiling of the room, reminding Clark of the curtain dividers in hospitals. A computer monitor, looking quite old and out-dated, sat on a metal shelf to his left. It looked like some sort of makeshift laboratory.

He hadn't been dropped either, but placed on some kind of table. It was cold, and felt distinctly like metal.

The strange man moved about over him, cuffing his wrists at an uncomfortable angle beneath the table and crisscrossing his chest with some kind of rope. Whoever he was, he knew Clark well enough to not want to take any chances.

_Doesn't matter,_ Clark thought fuzzily_, as soon as this stuff wears off I'll snap right through them._

Having secured his captive, the man pressed a button. The examination table whirred to life, rising slowly until it was in a completely vertical position. The motion and the noise, however, were too much for Clark's already floundering consciousness and the room melted into nothing.

* * *

The Smallville Sheriff arrived first, his lights on and siren blaring. An ambulance arrived next, followed by what was probably the rest of the Smallville police force.

By the time Lex Luthor arrived at the Kent farm over an hour later, uniformed police officers were scattered throughout the yard and the entire house had been blocked off with yellow crime scene tape, giving it an eerie murder-scene vibe.

The sleek, silver Porshe skidded to a stop in front of the barn. With a license plate that read LEX1, the car looked more like it should have been parked in Beverly Hills, not amongst idle emergency vehicles with their lights still turning in the front yard of a Normal Rockwell farmhouse.

He didn't bother confirming his presence with the police. Lex shoved his way through the gate and went straight for the house. Before he could reach the door, however, a big man stepped in his path. Balding, with a thick, neatly trimmed moustache, Sheriff Ethan blocked the way. "Sorry son," he said, "But this is a crime scene. I can't let you in here."

"Lex?" a familiar voice called his name from inside the house before he could object. Martha Kent appeared at the sheriff's shoulder. She looked red-eyed and disheveled, but otherwise unharmed. "Thank you, Ethan," she said politely. "He's all right."

The sheriff nodded reluctantly and stepped aside, allowing Lex to take the door Martha was partially holding open for him. He wasted no time stepping inside and took Mrs. Kent's hands in his. "I came as soon as I heard," he said, "Any news on Clark?"

"Nothing," came a gruff voice. More gruff than usual. Jonathan Kent was sitting at his kitchen table, which was oddly missing one chair, with his head in his hands. He didn't even look up at Lex.

"There are no leads, either," Chloe said, grimly. She was leaning against one of the wooden supports in the Kent's kitchen. Chloe's friend, Pete, was sitting on the floor next to her. Lana was the only other person in the room. She sat at the table across from Mr. Kent, staring blankly at the broken centerpiece and all its scattered contents. Lex had heard she'd witnessed it all. Her eyes were red and rimmed with tears. She looked like she was still in shock.

"I've got the best detectives in Metropolis on their way down as we speak," Lex said. "I've got all my people on this. We'll find Clark, Mrs. Kent. I promise you that."

Mrs. Kent blinked away tears and leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him. Unintentionally, Lex stiffened. He wasn't used to any outward signs of affection, at least directed toward him, and for a moment he considered pushing her away. But Mrs. Kent's one simple act of unreserved gratitude warmed him and he found himself hugging her back.

When she pulled away, wiping her eyes, Lex's grim determination returned, stronger than ever. They were good people, and Lex wanted to help them, but even more than that, he wanted to find his best friend.

"Why would anyone want to hurt Clark?" Lana asked, her voice small. She was still staring at the centerpiece and her face had no more color than it did when Pete and Chloe had found her.

Lex looked to Mr. Kent, who always seemed to know more than he let on, but the man who raised his head in response looked genuinely confused and at a lost. His forehead was bandaged above his left brow and his eyes, as they swept the room, were unfocused. It appeared Lana was not the only person still in shock. "I don't know," he breathed, wiping a hand over his weather-beaten face.

Lex fought the pang of jealousy that rose in him. It wasn't the time or place for envy, but he couldn't help but remember when a delusional woman, claiming Clark was her son, had kidnapped him to try and get Lionel to admit to the world that he lied about Clark's adoption. Lex had almost died because his father blatantly refused to give in to Rachel Dunleavy's demands.

Clark was lucky to have a family that was overwhelmed with concern for his safety.

The creak of the screen door intruded on his thoughts and Sheriff Ethan edged inside. "All you kids had better head home," he said briskly. "Jonathan, Martha, I'm sorry, but there's little more we can do tonight. I've been talking with the County and we feel that it's not safe for you to stay here tonight."

"But Ethan, this is our home," Martha protested. "Besides, what if the kidnappers try to contact us?"

The sheriff raised his hands helplessly. "I know its difficult for you right now but the best thing to do is get you to a safe place and get you some rest. Our people will be here all night in case the kidnappers try to make contact."

Jonathan wiped a hand across his brow again, knowing it would be a futile attempt to argue. "Where will we go?" he asked.

Ethan made a face. "Deputy Wilson is waiting in the squad car to transport you to the jail."

"What?" Chloe cried. "They're not criminals, Sheriff. Look around! Does it look like they kidnapped their own son?"

"They're not being taken in," Ethan assured her, "The jail is the only safehouse in Smallville." He turned to Jonathan and Martha, "Now I'm sorry, it's not the most comfortable, but it is entirely necessary to guarantee your safety."

"That's ridiculous," Lex said evenly. "Sheriff, let me put up the Kents for the night. The mansion has top of the line security, more than capable of guaranteeing their safety. Not to mention beds without bars."

Rendered without argument, Ethan glanced at the Kents. Martha was looking at her husband, as if anticipating a negative response. She knew a night spent in the jail, even for their safety, would not be a comfortable one, but she also knew her husband's reservations about the Luthors. To her surprise, as well as to the surprise of Lex, Jonathan nodded in agreement.

_He must be out of it_, Lex mused. _He didn't even argue._

Ethan nodded, then turned to Lex. "I'll need to have a couple of my guys stay with them."

"You have my complete cooperation, Sheriff."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to __murderesslotus__, __Dragon Rider of Alagaesia__, smallvillegirl92, __Super-hero Fan__, and __MysticWolf1__ for reviewing my 2__nd__ chapter!_

* * *

Clark blinked blearily. He must have passed out again.

Fighting to keep his heavy eyelids from dropping again, he tried to lift his head. No good; it fell backward, clanging painfully against hard steel.

So he was still upright. That probably meant he hadn't been moved.

As his vision cleared he saw that he was indeed still in the makeshift laboratory. His shirt was gone. In it's place, several sensors had been taped to his exposed skin. The gag was gone as well.

He felt cold and sick; it was an effort just to remain conscious.

But he had to stay awake. He had to find out where he was, who had taken him, and most importantly – how he'd been taken.

If he could figure those things out, perhaps he could figure out a way to free himself.

Suddenly, he was aware he wasn't alone. Movement…to his left…

Why hadn't his super-hearing picked that up?

"Subject awake…2:15 a.m.," said a voice.

Clark tried lifting his head in the direction of the voice. His vision was still blurry, but he recognized the stranger who had broken into their home. Now dressed in a grungy white lab coat, the man held a small, portable tape-recorder in one hand and a clipboard in the other.

The sight of the stranger sparked a flood of memories in Clark's still muddled consciousness…_His parents! Lana!_

Panic welled within him. Where were they? Were they hurt?

He flexed his wrists experimentally. Nothing - the cuffs binding him didn't even budge.

The stranger must have noticed his struggles. "If you're wondering why you can't move, you've been given a sedative," he said, "A little something I whipped up based on what I already knew about you. Not enough to kill you, of course, but just enough to make sure you won't be using any of those unique talents of yours to escape."

Sedative? Was that why he couldn't think straight? Clark swallowed, his throat tight and dry. "Where's my parents?" he managed to croak. "Where's Lana?"

"Oh, don't you worry about them now, kid," he said. "Just relax."

Before Clark could reply, he felt the prick of a sharp object attempting to penetrate the skin of his left bicep. It didn't work; the needle bent at the base, rendering the injection instrument useless.

If only his vision had been clearer he would have enjoyed seeing the stranger scowl. He heard him speaking into the tape recorder again…something about his impenetrable skin.

_What is going on?_ he thought furiously. Where the heck was he?

"Who are you?" Clark spat.

The man didn't answer right away. Instead he set his recorder aside and fixed Clark with fox-like eyes, as if debating on whether or not to answer.

"The name's Nixon. Derek Nixon. Ring a bell?"

The name meant nothing to Clark.

"Perhaps my brother then?" he continued, "Roger Nixon?"

Now that name struck a cord. Roger Nixon was a reporter who had been hired by Lex to investigate the Kent family, namely Clark, after Clark had rescued him from drowning. The event would not have been so special, certainly not worth digging into, except for the fact that Lex had hit Clark at 60 miles an hour prior to plunging off a bridge and into the river below, still trapped in his Porsche. Clark had no idea how long Roger Nixon had followed him, but the reporter had gone so far as to plant a bomb in the Kent's pickup truck just to see if Clark would survive the explosion. If this man was telling the truth, there was no way of knowing just how much information he had received from his late brother before he died.

"Let me go," he said, putting as much bravado in his voice as he could his back he began flexing his wrists again, trying to find a weak point in the cuffs. At full strength he would be able to snap his bonds like cotton. As it was, he could barely muster the energy to form his hands into fists.

The man shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Clark," he said, as if answering the simplest of questions.

Clark was in no mood for games. "Why?"

Nixon smiled, looking pleased that he would venture such a question. "Because, you're the reason my brother was killed."

_Killed?_ Now _that_ gave Clark pause. It was such an absurd statement that he might have even laughed aloud had the man not said it with such conviction. How could he be convinced Clark was responsible for Roger's death?

If it was revenge Nixon was looking for, he was barking up the wrong tree. Although Clark had been there when Roger died, he'd had nothing to do with the crooked reporter's death. As he recalled, he'd been halfway unconscious when it happened, not to mention being dragged through the woods by Roger himself.

"You see, Clark," Nixon continued, "I know all about you; your strength, your speed, that cute little trick you do with your eyes. Even your weakness. My brother was going to expose you; turn you into a story to jump-start his career. He got careless. And he was killed because of it."

"I had nothing to do with killing your brother," Clark shot back. He was losing his patience, but he had to keep the guy talking. He needed all the information he could get if he had any hopes of freeing himself. "Roger tried to kill my father. Lex saved him. It was self-defense."

Clark's side of the story only seemed to infuriate Nixon. "Is that why Roger's autopsy reports say he was shot in the back?" he roared.

"Why me, then?" Clark demanded. "If it's revenge you want then why not go after the guy who shot him?"

"You don't understand," Nixon said, fixing him with a stony gaze. "This isn't just about revenge. No, avenging my brother's death is only the beginning. I know about your powers, Clark, and I know how you got them. You have meteor-induced abilities. Stable ones. If I could duplicate those effects, I would go down in history as the man who sent weapons technology spiraling into the future. Armies of super soldiers, each one of them genetically enhanced with your same abilities. All your strengths. None of your weaknesses. Countries would be willing to pay anything for that kind of technology."

Clark kept his face blank as the scientist stared back at him, but he was mulling over this new information in his mind. Nixon didn't know – Roger didn't tell him that he'd found out the truth. Roger must have come to the conclusion that Clark was a meteor-freak long before he discovered Clark's spaceship in the storm cellar. He probably died before he had the chance to correct that information with his brother.

Regardless, Clark was floored by the magnitude of Nixon's convictions. It was painfully obvious that revenge was only an appetizer and greed was the entrée.

Derek Nixon was someone he could not underestimate, Clark realized. It was apparent now more than ever that he had to be prepared to take advantage of any opening, however small. Nixon might not know his secret now, but it was only a matter of time before he put two and two together. The man might be insane, but he was also intelligent. That made him all the more dangerous.

Already, Nixon had seemed to decide that he had told Clark enough and turned his back to him.

* * *

Jonathan grabbed their duffle bag from the back of the truck. Lex had been waiting for them and was standing at the front gate. "I've had a room prepared for you," he said as they approached. "I know it won't be home, but I hope you'll at least be comfortable."

"We really do appreciate this, Lex," Martha said, trying her best to be gracious.

"Mr. Luthor," Sheriff Ethan said, acknowledging the young man. "With your permission I'd like to have a look around your place."

"Whatever is necessary," Lex said pleasantly. "I'd also like to introduce you to my head of security. If you're going to be leaving a team here I'd like for them to know who they'll be working with."

"I 'reckon that can be arranged," Ethan said.

"But first, I'd like to get Mr. and Mrs. Kent to their room. It's been too long of a night for them as it is." Lex turned from the Sheriff to his guests. "Is that all you brought?" he asked, indicating to the duffle bag.

Jonathan opened his mouth to say something snide, but Martha put her hand on his arm, immediately silencing him. "For now," she said softly. "Hopefully we won't have to stay long."

Lex nodded and turned to enter into the mansion. Reluctantly, Jonathan followed, his wife close behind him.

Martha's words had had double meaning; her husband should have picked up on at least that much. On one side, it was a hope that Clark would be found by morning and they could be allowed to go home. On the other side, however, Martha knew Jonathan like no other person on Earth and she knew that he and Lex Luthor living under the same roof for any given period of time could only lead to strife, no matter how ridiculously large the house was. Jonathan had not let go of the terrible things Lionel Luthor had done, not only to their family but also to Smallville as a whole. Although she was grateful to not be spending their nights at the jail, she wasn't sure if this was going to be much better.

More often than not, Martha felt her husband didn't give the younger Luthor enough of a chance. She was, herself, proud that Clark had befriended him, despite everyone's reservations about the fact that he was Lionel Luthor's son. Lionel Luthor left a bad mark on the city of Smallville, but Clark had looked past the name left behind and seen Lex as a person, something that most of the town was incapable of doing. There was no doubt in her mind that Lex was grateful for that. Martha had seen the way Lex struggled with the legacy his father had left behind, it was probably refreshing to him to spend his time with someone who wasn't judgmental enough to push him aside as some kind of industrialist monster-in-training.

No, Lex truly cared about Clark and valued his friendship. That reason was enough for Martha to trust him. Jonathan, on the other hand, was a different story entirely.

"I'll show you to your room," Lex said as they stepped into the foyer of the Luthor mansion. Martha marveled at the great Scottish structure. She had heard that Lionel Luthor had the entire castle shipped in crates across the Atlantic Ocean and then transported over half the North America continent just to build it on the outskirts of their small, Kansas town. The mansion had remained vacant for months, that is, until Lionel decided to send his errant son to live there and run his factory.

Lex's expensive shoes echoed on the polished stone floors, making the house appear even more dark and empty. They passed at least a dozen rooms before Lex finally stopped in front of one. Martha wondered distantly if he had chosen this room specifically or if he just picked one.

"Please, make yourself at home," Lex said, opening the door for them and then stepping aside. "The kitchen is down the hall and to your left. You're welcome to anything you find in the cupboards."

"Thank you," Martha said.

"Have a good night," he answered.

"Good night, Lex."

The sound of Lex's footsteps retreated back down the hall and disappeared completely. Jonathan was grateful Lex hadn't stuck around to try to "talk." He respected their privacy and for that, Jonathan had to give him credit.

Now alone in the strange room with his wife, Jonathan looked around, still clutching the duffle bag. The room was elegant, to say the least. Much too elegant for his taste. The bed looked as if it had never been slept in, which it probably hadn't, and with more pillows than Jonathan could count.

A sizeable fireplace was carved into the wall on the opposite end of the room, a fire already burning in its hearth. Knowing that the Kents had a fire burning almost every night when the weather cooled, Lex had no doubt requested the room for it's similar purpose.

In front of the fireplace sat a loveseat with two matching chairs. There wasn't anything, save a kitchen, that this room didn't have.

Setting the duffle bag down on the marble floor, Jonathan let himself fall into one of the chairs. He leaned on his knees and covered his face with his hands. The day's emotion hit him like a sledgehammer and he felt his body shutter.

Up until this point, he hadn't allowed himself to cry; not for any masculine reason, but because as a husband he knew the importance of remaining strong for his wife. Jonathan alone understood his wife's pain.

When he and Martha realized they would never have children, something in his wife's spirit had broken. For as long as he could remember, Martha dreamed of having a family. It had been her fondest dream, a dream that she had been unwilling to let die, even facing the doctor's negative prognosis. He remembered well the day she had left the hospital, after hearing the heart-wrenching news that they would remain childless. With the knowledge that something would always be missing in her life, Martha had cried in his arms.

To make matters worse, small town news never ceased to travel faster than light. It seemed like the very next day Smallville was looking at the two of them differently. She hated the looks on the faces of her friends; the feelings of pity or uncomfortable silences from not knowing what to say to her. Martha had no idea how many times she heard _I'm sorry_, or the ever popular, _There's always adoption_.

"Maybe this is a sign," Jonathan had said to her. He knew she understood that he was only trying to comfort her, but even then he hadn't fully understood just how much raising a family meant to her.

"How can you say that?" she had argued.

He frowned, not just an unhappy expression at being challenged, but something…deeper.

"I just don't know if I'd be a good father, anyway," he finally said.

Martha took his hands in hers, knowing full well what he meant. The relationship Jonathan had with his father was enough to make him question whether or not he, himself, would be capable of loving and caring for a child.

Everything changed the day of the meteor storm. Over ten years had passed since that fateful day when he and his wife found the naked toddler wandering alone in a cornfield. Clark had filled the emptiness in their lives - they were a family now, complete and whole.

Martha put her arms around him and he returned her embrace in full, burying his face in her soft hair. Her small body shuttered as the tears let loose. There were no words for comfort so he did as best he could and held her while she wept. Finally, when she had calmed, she looked at up him, her eyes hollow with worry.

"What do we do, Jonathan?" she asked, her voice small. "This is impossible. How can Clark be…gone?"

Jonathan stroked a strand of reddish hair away from her face and met her gaze. Their situation was truly disturbing. After all, children were kidnapped every day, but not stout young men who could see through walls and lift a tractor with just one hand. "We get some rest. Clark can take care of himself. We just have to have faith in that."

Martha nodded, but he could tell she was far from convinced. Their son was stronger than any normal human, invulnerable to harm and disease, but the mother in her would worry; worry until her son was safe again in her arms.

* * *

Silence gnawed at Clark's already frayed nerves. Nixon had long since left the lab, leaving him powerless to do anything except dwell on the scientist's last words.

How far was Nixon planning on taking his revenge? Would he go after Lex? After his father? _It doesn't matter what happens to me_, he thought frantically, struggling to free himself from the still upright examination table. He had to get out, had to find his dad and Lex. He had to warn them…somehow.

He strained against the cuffs, pulling and tugging until they dug uncomfortably into his skin. He should have been able to snap his restraints like plastic, but he was still feeling the effects of whatever drug Nixon had given him. The good news was, his strength was returning and he could feel the drug beginning to wear off.

Just…a little…more…

With one last, great heave, Clark's arms flung free, the remains of the severed steel cuffs dangling uselessly from his wrists.

_That's what I'm talkin' about!_ he thought triumphantly. Now, if he could just…

The creak of a door opening interrupted his moment of victory. Clark froze. With his back to the door, he couldn't see who entered. He played with the thought of pretending his wrists were still bound, but he pushed that aside quickly. The curtain was at his back so his wrists would be the first thing Nixon saw when he came through and if he was caught now, he might not get another chance to escape.

Clutching at the rest of his restraints, he worked to pull them free. If he had enough strength to snap the handcuffs then he probably had enough in him to speed his way to safety before Nixon could react.

He wasn't fast enough. A hand whipped aside the curtain and as soon as Nixon saw his prisoner was almost free, he dropped the clipboard in his hands and snatched a bottle of green liquid and a handful of gauze from the silver medical stand next to the table. With trembling hands he dowsed the gauze with the green liquid.

Clark gasped as Nixon shoved the gauze over his mouth and nose. The teenager thrashed against him, desperately trying to wrench lose of his restraints, and Nixon had to put all his weight into holding him down. Soon, the boy's thrashing quieted to trembling. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed out.

Breathing hard, Nixon lowered the table in which the now unconscious Clark Kent lay still. His narrow escape had been a close one. It appeared Nixon had underestimated the boy's body and it's ability to heal itself and regain strength. He would have to be more careful. He switched on his tape recorder and began peeling the sensors from Clark's bare chest. "Subject regains strength at an alarming rate. Upping the dosage by .5 milligrams."

Cutting loose the rest of the restraints, Nixon hauled Clark over his shoulder and dragged him to the holding cell.

The sawmill had been in his family for generations; he knew the property like the back of his hand. He had remodeled the eastern wing to suit his experimental needs, including a crude observation area, laboratory, office, and holding cell. It wasn't much, but he made due with what he had. His mysterious "benefactor" was generous, but only to a point. Nixon himself didn't even know who his faceless patron was. He had his suspicions, but they mattered little. All that mattered was that the money arrived in his post office box every week.

The holding cell was dark and cold, with metallic walls and floor to match. He had purposely left it bare, save a single metal table and bathroom area, just in case the Kent boy was as resourceful as Roger made it sound. He had reinforced the walls with lead so that even if the boy regained his x-ray vision, he'd still not be able to see through it. As a precautionary, he lined the interior wall with fragments of meteor rock, not harmful to Clark as long as he remained safely behind the lead, but should he try to break free of his prison…

Nixon allowed himself a satisfied smile, dumping Clark inside. Everything was going according to plan.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to __murderesslotus__, __alwayslovingsv__, __Dragon Rider of Alagaesia__, __Super-hero Fan__, __MysticWolf1__, and smallvillegirl92 for reviewing my Chapter 3!_

* * *

**Day 2**

Neither Jonathan nor Martha slept. They both tossed and turned until finally, Martha padded down the hall of the mansion to find the kitchen where she could hopefully make a fresh pot of coffee for the long day ahead of them.

She knew she should be sleeping, but the feat was simply impossible with so much weighing on her mind. She needed to get up and do something; something to keep her hands busy, else she would go insane with worry. She found the kitchen exactly where Lex said it would be. It was much larger than her own at home, but she found her way around well enough to get a pot of coffee started.

While waiting for it to brew, she explored. Clark had told her once that there were over 75 guest rooms in the Luthor Manor. She was beginning to think he had been right. Just when she thought she had lost her way, she heard a familiar voice coming from a half open door. She recognized it as the door to Lex's den.

"I don't care what it takes," he was saying. Martha padded closer. She wasn't one to eavesdrop, but something about the way he had said it had caught her attention. She reached the door and peered inside. Lex was standing behind his desk, gazing out the stained glass window, cell phone in hand.

"I want your best men on this one," he continued. "Consider it a personal favor to me… Is money ever an object? … That's what I thought… I want the works, with an update every hour on the hour via email… We'll be in touch."

He clicked the cell phone shut without saying goodbye. Martha didn't wonder at whom he had been talking to. She knew the Luthors well enough to understand that their contacts were numerous and reached far beyond the borders of Smallville.

It warmed her to know that Lex was doing everything he could for them. As much as her husband distrusted Lex, they couldn't deny that the young man cared about Clark.

Turning to sit back at his desk, Lex noticed Martha standing in the door. His face softened considerably when he saw her. "Mrs. Kent? What are you doing up?" he asked. "It's after 5:00 in the morning."

She gave a wane smile, one that turned the corners of her mouth but didn't quite reach her eyes. "You forget, I'm married to a farmer."

Despite himself, he chuckled softly. It wasn't hard picturing Jonathan and Martha Kent up at the crack of dawn to start their chores for the day. Clark, on the other hand, was a different story entirely. Clark had spent the night at the mansion before with Lex, and he knew from trying to wake him up in the morning that Clark was _not _a morning person. It was a wonder the young man got his daily chores done at all.

Martha fixed him with a hard look as, for the first time, she noticed that he was still wearing his clothes from the night before. "It looks like I could ask you the same question. Have you even been to bed?"

"I work better at night," Lex said, forcing a light-hearted tone. She could tell it was fake and he knew it. There was just no hiding from Martha Kent.

Lex was just about to defend himself when she sighed heavily and offered him a compassionate smile. "Well, can I get you some coffee?" she asked.

* * *

Clark was vaguely aware that he was being pulled to his feet. Dazed and disoriented, it was only when he heard the _click _of a metal door opening and he felt his body being thrown forward that he realized he'd been moved from where he was being kept.

He landed hard on his side, the jolt knocking the wind out of him. Resisting the urge to panic, he tried to relax, to let his breath come back without exciting himself further.

He did not raise himself to his knees until he knew he would be able to get to his feet. When he did, he staggered, his mind telling him he had more strength than his body agreed. Struggling to focus his eyes, he swept the room. He was in a small, rectangular room, with thick metallic walls and no windows. Yellow, lackluster strip lighting buzzed overhead and on the wall to his left was a large, one-way mirror. The room was bare, save for a metallic examination table in the center and, oddly enough, a CCTV camera in the corner.

Clark groaned. This did not at all look promising. He'd seen movies where prisoners were interrogated by top-secret agents in rooms like these. He wondered if Nixon was watching him from the other side of the one-way mirror. He stared at the mirror, trying to focus his x-ray vision to see behind it.

Nothing happened.

He tried focusing his heat vision on the camera as it clicked and whirred, its red recording light on, but still nothing happened. He didn't have the strength to heat water, much less melt a camera lens.

Then he heard it.

Clark reacted to a faint hiss from all around him. From vents on every wall, a cloud of green mist could be seen flooding into the cell.

The mist provoked an immediate response. Inhaling sharply at the sudden onslaught of agony, Clark clutched his abdomen, doubling over as his insides twisted in protest. His vision blurred alarmingly and he stumbled, barely catching the edge of the table.

"Hang in there, kid," a male voice said, amplified within the cell.

_Hang in there?_ Clark thought. He opened his mouth to protest but all that escaped his lips was a tortured moan. Spasms beyond his control slammed every muscle in his body. His blurring vision combined with a now throbbing head sent the room spinning in all directions.

The green mist smelled metallic. It filled his lungs like crackling electricity, prickling painfully at his insides, choking him. Clutching his stomach, he began to retch.

"Don't worry kid," the voice said again, "I won't let it kill you."

The voice somehow pierced through the pounding in his skull.

What was Nixon doing to him? Had the lunatic somehow figured out a way to harness the deadly powers of the meteor rocks? And now he was studying him and how he reacted to them?

_No!_ It suddenly made perfect sense how Nixon was able to kidnap and keep him captive. If Nixon believed that Clark was a meteor-freak, then of course he would want to see how his body reacted to being exposed to the alien radiation. He would probably want to see if exposure would birth any "new" powers in him. Would Nixon realize too late that meteor rocks could kill him?

Clark tried to speak, tried to yell at Nixon his fatal miscalculation, but the mist stole the breath from his lungs. Unable to inhale enough oxygen, another wave of dizziness stole over him and he clutched the edge of the table, holding on for dear life as the cruel and inhumane treatment continued.

A violent spasm raked his entire body and he groaned even louder. Was he having a seizure?

Blood was now dribbling from his bottom lip and onto the floor. Had he passed out and hit the table? Or had he bit his lip?

He didn't remember. Couldn't remember. Nothing penetrated his throbbing brain except sheer agony.

Every muscle ached as Clark climbed painfully to his feet. His head spun, and he lost the strength in his arms to hang on to the table. Gravity pulled him backward and he slumped against the wall, waiting for the dizziness to subside. He could feel the poisonous gas he was breathing burning away at him from the inside out.

Out of habit, he raised his hand in front of his face. The swollen veins beneath his skin bubbled and squirmed like living entities tearing to get out.

"Not…yet…" he grunted. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he lurched away from the wall. Darkness encroached on his vision and he knew he was on the verge of blacking out. Slowly, one halting step at a time, he staggered toward the table.

It was too much. He collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

Nixon poured through the experiment's findings. They were amazing! Not only had Clark been wounded enough to actually lose blood, but exposure to the meteor rock solution had caused a softening of his skin. Whereas his skin had before been as hard as steel, unable to even puncture with a needle, now his skin was as soft and pliable as any normal human's. This was good news - he could start the blood work at any time.

It disturbed him, however, to note that the kid's body had not healed itself yet. His body would, no doubt, recover and go back to it's normal state with time, but according to this last test's results, that time was getting longer and longer. The weaker the kid got, the more difficult it was for his body to heal itself.

He glanced through the window at his captive, who was still lying unconscious on the floor of the observation room. Nixon hadn't moved him - it was imperative that he measured the amount of time it took for him to regain consciousness. It had been hours since the last experiment and Clark hadn't so much as moved a muscle. This wasn't good. He didn't have time to be a nurse; he would just have to get as much information from him as long as he lasted.

It was a morbid thought, but Nixon assured himself that the kid's death would be a small inconvenience in the shadow of the greater good. What he had set out to do, what he was going to create – nothing mattered except that.

When LuthorCorp shut down his lab and canceled his funding, he had thought his career had come to an end.

Everything he had worked for, everything he sought to do, came to a screeching halt. It left him empty. After his dismissal, he confided in only his brother. Roger was the only person who understood him. Roger himself had landed in some trouble with the Luthors. In his passionate quest to jump-start his investigative journalist career, he had tried to blackmail Lionel Luthor's son, Lex.

Derek tried to talk him out of it. You just didn't win when you went head to head with a family as powerful as the Luthors. But Roger insisted that in order to play the game, you had to play by their rules.

Of course it hadn't worked. The conniving son of Lionel Luthor had seen to that. And so it began, Roger working indiscreetly for Lex Luthor. It was working for Lex that led his brother to the Kents.

Lex Luthor himself had had an interest in the young man. Claiming to have hit the teenager with his car going 60 miles an hour, Lex was convinced that there was more to Clark Kent than your average fifteen-year-old when he emerged from the accident not only completely unharmed, but carrying an unconscious Lex with him.

Roger was immediately intrigued. Even his baseline investigation on the young man shot up red flags. The kid's name had turned up in a substantial number of police reports involving weird and inexplicable things happening in his hometown of Smallville. He found that Clark had the tendency to show up where trouble lurked, oftentimes appearing from out of nowhere to miraculously save the day. More intriguing was the fact that Smallville, itself, had a history of birthing strange and freakish behavior in it's own residents.

Many people blamed these happenings on the LuthorCorp fertilizer plant. "No telling what they're dumping out there," was something Roger had heard from many of the Smallville residents he had interviewed. But Roger was certain it had nothing to do with the LuthorCorp plant and everything to do with the meteors scattered all across the county.

"Think about it, Derek," Roger had said to him. "Clark would have been three when the Smallville meteor shower hit. What if he was caught in it and came out with some kind of mutation?"

"That's an interesting theory," Derek countered. True, everything thus far his brother had told him had been fascinating, worthy of further research, but even then he hadn't wanted to see his brother fail. "But how are you going to prove it?"

"Leave that to me," Roger had said mysteriously.

Derek only heard from his brother once after that. It had been a rushed call, following the aftermath of the tornado that hit Smallville, telling him to jump in his car and meet him at Old Mill Bridge.

"Why? What's happened?" Derek demanded.

"I've got him!" Roger gushed. "It's the meteor rocks. They make him weak!"

Derek tried to get him to explain, but Roger was in too much of a hurry. "Meet me in twenty minutes," he said, then promptly hung up.

Derek waited for his brother on Old Mill Bridge, but he never showed.

Roger was just on the verge of exposing Clark Kent when he was killed, by none other than the man he worked for; shot in the back, by Lex Luthor.

Derek curled his hand into a fist. Roger's dream would not die with him. Roger had told his brother everything he knew about the Smallville meteors and Derek's interest in them had piqued beyond obsessive. The Kents became his hobby in the months after his brother's demise. He followed them, tracked their every move, watched from afar as Clark demonstrated his powers and discovered new ones.

He sighed, not for the first time wishing that Roger was alive to see how far he had come. _No matter. _He glanced at the video to his right, now wrapped securely in an unmarked cardboard box, ready to be mailed. Both Jonathan Kent and Lex Luthor had a nasty surprise in store for them. Derek would not only make the people who killed his brother pay, he would bring about the next level in weapon's technology. He would create the ultimate soldier: stronger, faster, immune to diseases, and harmed by nothing.

Clark Kent was the key to it all.


	5. Chapter 5

_Bunches of thanks to __alwayslovingsv__, __Poppycat123__, __Super-hero Fan__, and __supernatfem76__ for reviewing my Chapter 4. I wouldn't keep going if I didn't know somebody out there was enjoying it!_

* * *

Lana Lang stared at the floor of the Sullivan's kitchen. It was a change; she'd been staring out the window for what seemed like hours.

Where was Clark? Who had taken him? Was her friend still alive?

_He's alive_, she told herself firmly.

She knew she should get up, try focusing on something else, get her mind off Clark and his disappearance, but she couldn't get the entire horrific scene out of her head. Was there something she missed? Some clue as to why Clark had been targeted?

Obviously the kidnapper wanted something. If he really wanted him dead, wouldn't he have done it right away?

But it made no sense to kidnap a Kent. It wasn't as if the Kents had a large amount of money stashed away that the kidnaper would desire for ransom. Wasn't Clark just telling her just yesterday that they were having money troubles?

It made no sense. Perhaps the kidnapper did it to get to Lex. That was a possibility. Everyone in Smallville knew that Clark Kent was Lex Luthor's closest friend…

Lana shook her head to clear it. So many possibilities, so many unanswered questions. No one knew where the kidnapper was headed. Nobody knew where he came from or why the Kents had been targeted. They didn't even have a name. There were too many questions. And Clark…

_Clark's alive. He has to be._

She told herself this over and over. It was like a bad dream, a nightmare she so desperately wanted to wake up from. But every time she closed her eyes she remembered the man's impassive face and the surprise in her friend's eyes as he lost consciousness. She could only despair, knowing there was nothing she could do.

_All I can do is sit here and wait, _she thought bitterly.

She had briefed Sheriff Ethan, who was coordinating the search for Clark. She told him everything she knew, even gave a detailed description to the police of what the kidnapper looked like.

Lex had assigned several of his own personal security teams to investigate Clark's disappearance. Even Chloe and Pete had barred themselves inside the _Torch_, trying to crack the code of the mysterious kidnapper, as well as looking for clues that might lead to his identity and whereabouts. Everything that could possibly be done was being done. Everyone was doing something to find Clark.

Everyone except for her. She could only sit and wait.

"Are you trying to memorize the floor?" came a familiar voice.

It was Chloe.

"I can save ya some time. There are twelve tiles between the chair you're sitting in and the window."

Lana tried to smile, but it must not have been very convincing because Chloe sighed and sat in the chair next to her, leaning forward on her knees.

"Do you wanna talk?" she asked.

Lana shook her head. She was grateful for her friend's concern, but talking about it was the last thing she wanted to do. "Thanks, but I doubt it would make any sense; I'm still trying to figure out what's going on in _my_ head."

Both girls smiled wanly. The mood lifted slightly.

Chloe cleared her throat. "Listen," she said. "I'm off to the _Torch _to see what I can dig up. Do you want to come?"

Lana shook her head tiredly. "No. I think I should stay here and try to get some rest."

"Suite yourself," Chloe said, getting up. "You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah," the dark-haired girl answered. "Just let me know if you find anything, okay?"

"All right."

As Chloe reached for the door her cell phone chimed. Fiddling in her purse she found it and checked the caller ID.

"It's Lex," she said, knotting her eyebrows.

Lana sat up straighter in her chair. "Maybe he has some news."

"I'll find out." Chloe flipped the cover open and raised the phone to her ear. "Hello… Yeah, she's here with me. Have you heard anything on Clark…? We can be there in fifteen minutes… Okay. Thanks… Bye."

"What did he say?" Lana prodded.

"An unmarked package was delivered to Lex's place a few hours ago, untraceable and with no return address. They think it might be the kidnapper's demands."

Lana stood and grabbed her coat. "Then let's go."

By the time Lana and Chloe had arrived at the Luthor mansion, everyone was already assembled in Lex's den. The room already bore the mark of 24 hours of work: several laptops sat on the desk, surrounded by police reports and miscellaneous pictures, as well as a few empty coffee cups and Lex's trademark scotch glasses. A television monitor had been set up on a rolling table next to the desk, it's channel resting on the local news.

Jonathan and Martha Kent sat in the loveseat next to the fireplace, looking even more tired than the night before. Pete sat across from them in a chair and Lex was at his desk, going over some reports with Deputy Wilson. Sheriff Ethan stood by the bookcase, speaking quietly into a cell phone.

When Lex saw the girls enter, he stood and said, "Lana, Chloe, thanks for coming on such short notice. Come on in and have a seat."

"Chloe told me the news," Lana said, "What was in the package?"

"A video tape," Lex answered. "It's been held up at the police department for screening but it arrived just a few minutes ago. We're waiting on instructions."

"Will we be able to watch it?" Chloe asked hopefully.

Lex frowned. "I don't know. That'll be up to the Kents."

Sheriff Ethan cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Jonathan… Martha…" he said, his face grave. "I just got off the phone with the screening department. It isn't demands, but we do have a positive I.D. on the victim. It's Clark."

Martha gave a small gasp. Jonathan immediately stood, but Ethan raised a hand to let him know he hadn't finished. "The footage shows proof that your son is, or at least was, alive when it was taped." He glanced over at Lana, Pete, and Chloe. "It isn't pretty. They suggest that only family see it."

Martha stood, placing a hand on her husband's arm. The color had drained from her face but she shook her head vigorously. "No. Jonathan and I talked about it. Whatever it is, I think it's important for us all to see it."

Ethan studied her. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Martha and I were both unconscious when Clark was taken," Jonathan explained. "These kids were there when it happened. They may be able to help."

The Sheriff gave them one last questioning look before handing the video to Lex.

* * *

Lex could hear Martha Kent's silent sobs. They were heartbreaking. Anyone who saw him would think he was calm. Lex had become good at looking calm, especially when he wasn't. And right now, he was far from calm.

He stood motionless in front of the TV, with the remote clutched tightly in his hand. It took a moment to notice he'd been holding his breath. He forced himself to exhale and then inhale, his breath suddenly catching in his throat.

He turned to Lana, her moist brown eyes gleaming like gemstones. She had sank to the sofa next to Jonathan and Martha. Her own grievous traumas were forgotten as she stared in abject horror at the TV.

Clark was being tortured. She wanted to throw the TV screen out Lex's expensive stained glass windows.

The video had started in an empty, dark room and it had been set up from a distance so that the entirety of its perimeter could be seen. What looked like a medical examination table was in the center of room and a huge glass mirror took up the entire space of the wall behind it. As they watched, the door to the room opened and Clark was thrown inside. His chest was bare and his skin pale. There was blood seeping out the side of his mouth. He stumbled out of control, into the room, landing hard on his side. Mrs. Kent had breathed a sigh of relief at seeing her son alive, as did many of the others present. But as they watched, their relief melted into utter horror.

A green mist began to fill the room and Clark reacted to it instantly, violently coughing, sputtering, and thrashing. He moaned in agony and unspeakable pain as the poison spread remorselessly through his body. For one heartbreaking instant, it looked as if Clark would pull through, would stay on his feet and fight whatever it was being done to him, but then they watched as his bloodshot eyes rolled upward in their sockets, exposing their whites. His knees buckled, his muscles sagged and he slipped into unconsciousness, collapsing to the floor.

When the video ended, Lex played it again, trying to see anything that might give him a clue as to where his friend might be.

He turned back to see all three women: Lana, Chloe, and Mrs. Kent weeping. He silently chided himself for watching the video again in their presence. It had been cruel to make them watch it again, even though he was only trying to see anything useful.

Jonathan wrapped strong arms around his wife, who fell instantly into his embrace. Pete had stepped forward, putting a comforting arm around Chloe. Lana alone suffered without comfort.

Jonathan found his voice. "Who is he?"

"And why is he doing this to our son?" Martha sobbed.

Lex stood for a moment, considering the question. Martha knew that he had been up all night chasing leads and making phone calls, but she hadn't inquired further. He had been given a name by one of his shadier contacts, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. He hoped by bringing it up they wouldn't ask questions.

Sheriff Ethan spoke before Lex had a chance to answer, "We haven't been able to I.D. him yet," he said slowly. "This new evidence should give us some kind of lead but it'll take time. We don't have the kind of equipment here necessary to study it so it'll have to be sent off. In the meantime, can you tell me, did Clark have any enemies?"

Martha's jaw dropped. It was well known around Smallville that Clark was a good, respectable kid. "Come on Ethan, enemies?"

"Bullies? Kids at school?"

Martha looked to Pete, Chloe, and Lana. None of them had an answer. Sure, he'd been the Smallville High scarecrow as a freshman, but Lana's jealous boyfriend, Whitney, had brought that on. No one in school disliked Clark enough to do something as horrible as this.

"I'm sorry, Sheriff, but I don't think a high school student is capable of this." Jonathan said.

"What about them meteor mutants? Your boy's been pretty active lately helping put some of them guys away," Deputy Wilson supplied.

The Sheriff shook his head. "I can have someone track down all the cases involving Mr. Kent in the last year and a half, but that'll take time, too."

"Ethan," Jonathan said irritably, "Isn't there anything?"

"I have a name," Lex said, suddenly feeling the weight of all eyes upon him. His eyes met Martha's briefly before he continued. "It isn't solid, but it could be a place to start."

A huff came from the Sheriff. Lex could have cared less what the small-town officer thought, but he knew that the opinions of the Kents, Jonathan especially, were already tottering on whether or not to trust him. He had to tread carefully. "One of my underground sources gave me the name of Derek Nixon. He's the brother of one Roger Nixon," he paused to let the name sink in. Although the name meant nothing to Lana, Pete, or Chloe, Jonathan and Martha froze. "And if they're right, he wants the ones responsible for his brother's death."

"But Clark didn't kill Roger," Jonathan shot back, "You did."

Lex winced inwardly, but kept his face calm. "I know," he said, "which is why I believe he sent us this tape. It makes sense that he would want revenge. He wants us to watch him slowly kill Clark – your son and my best friend."

"Us?" Jonathan asked heatedly. Lex went to his desk and grabbed the small, cardboard box in which the video had been delivered in. He presented it to Jonathan. There were two names on it.

"Monster," Lana whispered, her eyes still fixed on the paused image of Clark's unconscious form lying on the floor of whatever hell he had been taken to.

"I believe he holds us both responsible for his brother's death, Mr. Kent," Lex said.

"I don't care who's responsible!" Chloe suddenly cried. Until now, the high school reporter had been so uncharacteristically silent that they'd all forgotten she was there. "We've got to get out there and find him!" she cried.

"I understand how you feel, Chloe," Lex said gently, "We're all feeling the same."

"But we don't even know where to start," Martha said, trying to dry her eyes on her sweater.

"Listen, I've got contacts," she insisted, her voice shaking "I can do a search on Derek Nixon. Maybe that would give us a lead on where his hideout is."

"I'm not sure that would help, Chloe," Jonathan replied. He threw an angry glare at Lex. "We don't even know if this Derek Nixon is the one responsible."

Chloe wasn't giving up. "We could go out and search…"

"Kansas is a big place, Miss Sullivan," Sheriff Ethan cut her off, "and your friend's already been missing for 36 hours."

"I can't believe what I'm hearing!" she stammered, stamping her foot. Pete stepped up behind her and placed a hand protectively on her shoulder. She couldn't tell if he was trying to deter her from killing someone or to let her know he was there, but right at that moment, she wasn't even thinking. "How many times has Clark saved all of our lives? And now, when he needs us the most, we're going to sit on our butts and do nothing?"

Lex and Jonathan looked at each other.

For a full minute they stared at one another until, at length, something passed between them. If she had not known either of the two fiery men any less intimately she would not have caught it, but Martha saw it and knew what it was. They were calling a cease-fire. If Lex's source was correct, then they were both at fault for Clark's disappearance.

Jonathan turned to Chloe with a new resolve. "All right. Do what you can, Chloe," he said firmly, "Take Pete and Lana with you if need to. Martha, the best thing for you and I to do is stay in contact with the police in case there are any new leads. Lex…" he looked to the young billionaire.

"I've got contacts of my own," he said. "I'll get this video to them immediately. They'll find parts that we wouldn't be able to see – a clue, a hint, something."

Jonathan nodded. "That settles it. We'll meet again in the morning to go over what we've found."

Lex looked toward Martha and said, "We'll find him, Mrs. Kent."

Martha nodded, grateful for Lex's strength. She didn't protest when he crossed the room and gave her a small, but comforting hug. Lana as well stood and kissed Martha on the cheek. Then came Pete, and Jonathan. The last was Chloe, whose embrace to Martha seemed to be more for herself than the incoherent mother. They were all so lost without Clark, each and every one of them feeling and dealing with that emptiness in their own way. He was the silent strength that held their world together. They were six very different people, coming from very different worlds, yet one young man had the strength to bring them all together.

Lex left first, Chloe and Lana followed. "I'll be down in a minute," Pete called to them. When he was sure they were out of hearing range, he turned to Jonathan and Martha.

"This looks bad," Pete said grimly, "I thought Clark was immune to just about everything."

"He is," Martha insisted, "Except for meteor rocks."

"That gas we saw on the video," Jonathan said, "Whoever this Derek Nixon is he must have found out a way to harness the powers of the meteor rocks to use it on Clark, that's the only explanation."

"You got that right," Pete said, "You don't just walk into a house and knock out a six-foot farm boy with super-strength."

"That explains the green mist," Martha replied, "But _how _could he possibly know about it? Roger Nixon died before he had a chance to tell anyone."

"There's no telling how much he actually knew," Jonathan said grimly, "Or how much he was able to pass on to his brother before he died."

Pete looked compassionately at Martha. "We'll find him," he said firmly. "Clark's strong. He'll be alive when we find him."


	6. Chapter 6

_To my wonderful reviewers: __supernatfem76__, __alwayslovingsv__, __MysticWolf1__, and __TCfan30__. You guys are awesome! Thank you for reviewing my Chapter 5!_

* * *

Lana, Pete, and Chloe had all gone to the _Torch _after leaving the mansion in hopes of getting started on their research, but with just a name, they had very little to go on. After nearly three hours of no success, they decided to call it a night.

"Hopefully we'll have more information to go on tomorrow," Chloe said, pulling her keys out of her handbag.

"I'm beat," Lana replied, yawning.

"I hear that," Pete chimed in. He opened the passenger's side door for Lana and then crossed in front of the little red bug to get Chloe's. "Now, I know you, girl," he said as she settled inside, "Get some rest, will ya? You ain't gonna do Clark any good if you're fallin' asleep on your feet."

Chloe frowned. It amazed her sometimes just how much her friends knew her. "What am I? An open book?"

"Nah, your cover's just got really big letters," he said and leaned in to give her a hug.

The girls said goodbye to Pete and headed home in silence.

Unfortunately, home was no better. After saying goodnight to Lana, Chloe changed into her nightclothes and crawled into bed, only to find herself tossing and turning. Pete really had read her like a book. There was just too much on her mind to allow her to relax.

When it was evident she wasn't going to sleep, she threw aside the covers and slipped into her robe. Being as quiet as she possibly could, Chloe tiptoed her way down the stairs and to the kitchen where she pulled out her mini-cappuccino machine. It had been a gift from Pete and Clark for Christmas last year. She smiled as she sat on the counter and listened to it bubble, remembering Clark in his goofy Santa hat. _"Here's to you, Chloe,"_ he had said, raising his mug of the first cup of freshly brewed cappuccino from the new machine, _"To the only girl I know that drinks coffee like water."_

"_May the caffeine be overflowing and the foam never rot your teeth,"_ Pete had added.

Chloe sighed, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She poured herself a cup and then headed upstairs. Caffeine was probably the last thing she needed, but it helped calm her.

Instead of turning the light on in her room, she switched on the lamp by her desk. It would be better to not wake anyone. As it was, her dad would probably be upset with her for being up so late.

But she couldn't help it. Her head was so full it was difficult to concentrate, much less clear her mind long enough to sleep. How could anyone sleep while Clark was still missing? How could she sleep, wondering if they had done something just a bit differently if they could have saved him?

She knew she shouldn't beat herself up about it, but what if she and Pete had gotten to the farm sooner? What if they had finished their project quicker? Drove faster? Arrived just a bit earlier? They may have caught the kidnapper in the act; maybe even possibly prevented him from following through with his plans.

_Or the kidnapper could have knocked us out, like he did Clark's parents, _she thought bitterly.

She had no idea how long she sat at her desk. _You ain't gonna do Clark any good if you're fallin' asleep on your feet_, Pete had said. He was right. She needed to get some rest; she had a long day of digging tomorrow.

Chloe said a silent prayer that her friend was okay, wherever he was, and slipped into her bed.

* * *

On the other side of Smallville, Lex as well had gotten a few restless hours of sleep on the loveseat in his den. When he couldn't sleep, he tried playing a game of pool. When that didn't work, he continued to dig.

After turning over the video to his research team, they had already dissected the footage and provided him with several digital photographs, visually enhanced so that every part of the room in which his friend was being kept would be exposed. He looked them over, studying them with a careful eye.

Nothing stood out, nor gave any clue to Clark's whereabouts.

Lex ran a restless hand over his bald head. Not a clue, not a single clue from the footage. The frustration of it was maddening. He had the best scientists in the world studying this footage, his own special research team piecing it apart for something – anything – that would aide them in their search. Nothing. Still nothing.

To make matters worse, other than the package containing the video, they still had no contact with the kidnapper, which made Lex uneasy. Kidnappers with an agenda usually made their demands known within the first 24 hours. Silence could only mean that either the kidnapper had no real agenda, in which case Clark would have already been dead, or that the kidnapper had a hidden agenda, something below the surface of a vengeful abduction.

Lex sighed heavily. He'd spend as much money as he had to and use all of his resources to find his friend. It was because in the end, he had to.

Clark had given something to Lex – something that could never be repaid.

Clark had given Lex a second chance.

Shortly after his father had sent him to live in what he had none-too-affectionately nicknamed Hickville, Lex could be seen racing his Porsche around the small community.

The young billionaire had been known to take out his frustrations on driving. Driving had always soothed him, helped him unwind. He hadn't been in Smallville long, but one thing he did like about the place was the lack of traffic. He could zip from the factory to the mansion in less than 10 minutes without meeting a single car on the road.

It was on one of those occasions that brought their fates together. Lex had just left the LuthorCorp factory and was speeding down the road on the way back to the mansion when something fell off the back of a passing pickup truck. Lex had been on the phone at the time and before he knew what was happening, a roll of barbed wire had rolled directly into his path. He hit it, the tires of his Porsche blowing out and sending him screeching out of control.

There was a bridge up ahead, and on that bridge was young boy. Lex could do nothing but watch as his Porsche hurtled toward him; he couldn't have been going less than 60 miles an hour.

It was at that moment that Lex knew he was going to die. He was going to die and he was going to take an innocent person with him.

What happened next was still questionable. Lex remembered his car hitting the boy, the kid's body bouncing like a rag-doll against the hood of his Porsche. He remembered the car crashing through the guardrail. He remembered the fall. The water had been cold. He couldn't breath. Then nothing.

Death was more pleasant than the movies made it out to be. Lex later told Clark that he had been flying, and that he had felt the most at peace he had ever felt in his life.

But death wasn't ready for him yet. Instead, he woke, not only surprised to find himself alive, but also his young savior. "I could have sworn I hit you," he blurted out, unable to believe his eyes. But the young man was fine and, thanks to him, so was Lex.

The kid's story was different than what Lex remembered. According to him, Lex's car had crashed through the guardrail and plunged into the river. Only after the car had hit the water did Clark jump in to save him.

Regardless of the story, Lex knew he would be dead if Clark hadn't saved him.

But the need to find his friend also ran much deeper than a debt.

Clark was more than a friend to Lex. Clark had seen past the Luthor name, not only befriending the young billionaire but treating him with real, honest respect, something that Lex had never known. His father, Lionel, taught him that respect was born out of fear, and Lex had witnessed that fear in all of Lionel's dealings. He saw it in the faces of Lionel's subordinates and his staff, saw it in the people he did business with. He'd even seen it in the eyes of his mother. People respected the Luthors because they feared them.

Clark respected Lex, he didn't fear him. He respected who he was as a man, not a Luthor. It motivated Lex to be worthy of that respect.

It was because of this that Lex knew he needed Clark. Lex knew that there was darkness in him. He could feel it in the core of his being. That darkness, both frightening and intriguing, was always there, drifting at the back of his conscious, grafted into him by the twisted "affections" of his father. But Clark…Clark brought out goodness in him that he hadn't even known existed.

It gave him hope; hope that he wouldn't turn out like Lionel Luthor.

Clark – mild-mannered, moral driven Clark – was always there to encourage him, and sometimes even served as Lex's voice of reason; like the cricket to the wooden marionette, Pinocchio.

It was childish but, deep down, Lex feared the outcome of his future without the love and support of his friend. The adult in him knew that whatever man he became in the end would be the result of his _own_ life choices and his _own_ decisions. But even Pinocchio went astray when he ceased to associate himself with his talking cricket.

Glancing at his watch, Lex stood. The first signs of dawn were filling the sky outside his window and he knew he only had an hour at best to shower and get ready for the coming day. Sheriff Ethan would be arriving to exchange information before the meeting with the family. Lex hoped they could figure something out. They were running out of time.

* * *

**Day 3**

Jonathan and Martha were already up and dressed by the time Lex had showered and returned to his den. They greeted him with empty smiles, their wane faces looking even more tired and thin than before. Jonathan had a rough layer of stubble marking his face and Martha hadn't bothered applying makeup. It was obvious that the worry and concern for their son's well being was starting to get to them.

Lana and Chloe as well looked a little worse for the wear. Chloe seemed especially worn-out. Her eyes were bloodshot and even makeup couldn't hide their puffiness.

Pete arrived at the same time as the Sheriff. He, too, looked like he hadn't slept a wink.

Lex sent for a pot of coffee; it was going to be a long day with a group of tired, stressed, and worn out people.

He spoke with the Sheriff first, giving him everything his people had managed to come up with, which unfortunately wasn't a great deal, before they addressed the group.

"It's not much, but we've gathered some more information on Clark and both the Sheriff and I thought all of you should be present when we go over it," Lex started.

"Especially you, Miss Lang," Sheriff Ethan said tersely, "Seein' as how you were the only one present who remembers anything."

Lana gave a small nod before taking a seat of her own next to Jonathan and Martha. Chloe, not wanting to sit, leaned against the side of Pete's chair.

"So what do we got, Sheriff?" Jonathan asked.

"We found traces of a man-made chemical sedative on the floorboards of your kitchen," Ethan answered, handing the reports to Martha. "Which matches up with Miss Lang's description of how the kidnapper managed to get Clark."

"The Sheriff was kind enough to get me a sample of the chemical so that I could have my labs take a look at it," Lex added. He didn't mention that Sheriff Ethan had fought tooth-and-nail against giving it to him. Lex had the money and the connections to get the job done, something that the small-town police force couldn't even dream of. If it hadn't been for Jonathan being a special friend to the Sheriff, he might not have gotten it at all.

"And were they able to find anything?" Martha asked, handing the reports off to Jonathan.

"Mostly chloroform, but the tests also detected a high concentration of an unknown chemical," Lex answered.

"Meteor rock," Chloe interjected, leaning over Jonathan's shoulder to get a look at the reports.

Lex blinked in surprise at the high school journalist. Chloe must have seen his face because she clarified, "I recognize the compound code. It's the code for meteor rock. I have a source at MetU who's been studying it."

Was it just Lex, or did Jonathan, Martha, and Pete suddenly pale?

"Meteor rock?" Lana's confused voice broke the moment, "That doesn't make any sense."

"So, was this just some random act of revenge or has the kidnapper contacted anyone with any demands?" Pete asked, rushing to change the subject.

The Sheriff looked to the Kents, who were shaking their heads. "We haven't heard a peep," Martha said grimly.

"This was far too planned to be random," Ethan said.

Lex stood and handed a small stack of photos to Jonathan. "These are the digitally enhanced lab photos taken from the video footage," he said.

Jonathan studied them, looking for anything that might give them a clue as to where his son was. "I don't recognize anything," he finally said.

"But that doesn't mean someone with the right equipment couldn't find details that could help us out," Chloe said.

"I'm way ahead of you Chloe," Lex said, "LuthorCorp is already all over these and I've got calls out to several other laboratories in Metropolis. They'll find parts we wouldn't see."

Pete crossed his arms. "In all that footage there has to be something."

The next stack of papers handed to Jonathan were police reports and photographs on Nixon. Sheriff Ethan removed the topmost one from the stack and handed it to Lana. "Can you confirm this is the suspect, Miss Lang?"

Lana's eyes widened in alarm. "That's him," she said.

"We've got a name and face," Lex replied.

"And a motive," Martha added.

Jonathan nodded. "All we gotta do is find him."

"If you don't mind Sheriff, I'd like to take some notes," Chloe said, taking the stack offered from Mr. Kent. "I know there isn't much I can do but I can at least run a background check on this guy and see what I can dig up with my own sources."

The Smallville Sheriff nodded, then said, "Just let the authorities know if you find anything."

"I will," she promised.


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you so much to all of you who took the time to review my Chapter 6 – __supernatfem76__, __alwayslovingsv__, liasongh, __MysticWolf1__, smallvillegirl92, HermyGranger, pollypocket911, and Farmgt. You guys made a new record for me! Just for that, I stayed up until 1:00__ in the morning last night just so that I could finish this chapter and have a new one up for you guys today!_

* * *

Lana trotted through the deserted halls of Smallville High School, pushing open the door of the _Torch _to find Chloe in her usual position in front of her computer. "Hey," she said, "I got your message. Any news on Clark?"

Chloe frowned, but didn't look up. Lana could tell even without seeing her face that she was still worried. "No," the blonde reporter answered, "But I did finally get that background analysis on Derek Nixon. Take a seat and I'll fill you in. Pete should be here any minute."

"Pete's here," Pete said, stepping through the door behind Lana. He slipped off his jacket and grabbed a chair from an empty desk, sliding it next to the two girls and sitting in it backwards. "What's the intrepid reporter got for us?"

"Hopefully, something to start with," Chloe replied, standing and crossing the room to retrieve a small stack of papers from the printer. She returned, dropping them in front of her friends.

"You've been busy," Lana remarked, glancing at the stack even as Pete began thumbing through it. "What is all this?"

"Everything I could possibly find on Derek Nixon," she answered. "Look at that top page there, will you? It appears our mad scientist friend was a geneticist. Stem cell manipulation, cloning - you name it; he's had his hands in it. His last known project was…" she clicked a window on her computer and read aloud, "…DNA modification in concurrence with engineered development potential for LuthorCorp Laboratories."

"LuthorCorp," Pete repeated, disgusted.

"Wait a second," Lana interjected, her eyes scanning the report. "It says here that LuthorCorp pulled his funding three years ago and shut down the project."

"Bingo," Chloe replied, clicking on another window. "His career should have been over."

Pete furrowed his brows. "Why was his funding pulled?"

Chloe hesitated before answering. "Cruel and unusual studies. The guy was caught doing inhumane experiments on animals at LuthorCorp. The Metropolis P.I.T.A organization went ballistic when the information leaked and demanded an investigation. It was rumored that the government found evidence of human testing as well, but instead of addressing the problem there was a huge cover up – surprise, surprise – and LuthorCorp claimed to have no knowledge of his work."

The three fell silent, the news heavy and weighing on their minds.

Lana suppressed a shutter. _Human testing?_ It was a few moments before she could find her voice. "What happened to Nixon?" she asked.

"He was let go, his Ph.D. and all credentials suspended indefinitely. After that he took a job at the Metropolis Juvenile Center for Boys."

"Wow. Super-scientist to Average-Joe in just one day. So what do you think he had against Clark?" Pete ventured.

"I didn't know at first," Chloe explained, turning back to her computer. She tapped a few keys and hit the PRINT button before continuing, "But I don't think it's Clark that Nixon really wanted. Remember back at the mansion when Lex said that Nixon wanted revenge for his brother's death? I did a search on the name Nixon and do you remember that reporter that Lex shot after the spring tornado?"

"Yeah, he'd been attacking Mr. Kent. It was self-defense."

"Not according to Derek Nixon. The reporter's name that Lex shot was Roger Nixon. Derek Nixon was his brother."

"Oh my god," Lana breathed.

"It gets better," Chloe said grimly. "Shortly after his brother's death, Nixon disappeared from the Juvenile Center where he'd been employed for the past year. The guy had been using his position to hack into institutions like Belle Reeve and Arkham Asylum. They found hundreds of stolen patient files on his computer. He's been missing ever since."

"So what now?" Pete asked, indicating to the stack. "In all this information there must be something for us to go on. A hint, a clue – something."

"That's actually why I called you here." Chloe grabbed the paper she'd printed and handed it to Pete. It was a map.

"According to the police report, this is the area where Lex shot Roger Nixon."

"You want us to check it out?"

"This place and an underground tomb nearby. It's somewhere in this area," she said, pointing. "It shouldn't be too difficult to find - there used to be a church there. The tomb is where the police report said that Mr. Kent and Roger Nixon were caught during the tornado."

Lana grabbed her purse and slipped on her jacket. "Are you coming?" she asked.

Chloe shook her head. "No. As much as I want to, I've got a few calls out to my contacts in the police department."

Pete smiled. "Contacts? You mean the officer who let you out of that last speeding ticket because he thinks you're cute?"

"Shut up," Chloe shot back. "I didn't get that ticket because of my clean record."

Not convinced in the slightest, Pete gave a light-hearted laugh, but chose to not pursue it. He was far too excited to finally be _doing _something about finding his friend. "What'cha got him looking for?" he asked instead, grabbing his coat.

"The normal stuff – records, credit cards, parking tickets, large purchases. Probably nothing that I haven't been able to find myself, but I've also got another contact at the State looking for any land or property owned or leased by the Nixon family," Chloe answered. "If Roger Nixon was a local to Metropolis, it's possible his brother was too."

"Girl – you are amazing!" Pete beamed. "Come on Lana, let's go play detective."

"We'll let you know what we find," Lana added. She gave a meaningful nod in Chloe's direction. Though she and Chloe were often at odds when it came to their feelings about Clark, they had become very good friends and Lana was grateful of that. "He's gonna make it," she said.

Chloe pursed her lips. "We just can't give up hope."

Without another word, Lana followed Pete out the door.

"Your car or mine?" Pete asked once they were outside.

"Yours," Lana answered, but her mind wasn't on the drive. It was on Clark…and Chloe.

Was it wrong of her to be envious of Chloe?

Lana climbed into the passenger's seat of Pete's car, the old and familiar feeling of inadequacy nagging at her. This wasn't the first case she and her friends had set out on to solve, but the "team" that they usually formed was now split and Lana found herself wondering just what good she'd ever done for them anyway.

Chloe was the brilliant researcher, often digging up facts and clues and putting them together like pieces of a puzzle. Clark had the knack for finding things, clues that were invisible, forming scenarios that were seemingly impossible, but always in the end seemed to be right. And Pete, Pete did the groundwork, always lagging behind, searching for the things that both Chloe and Clark had missed. _Me? _Lana thought bitterly. _I'm the tag-along. I'm the one they bring along for the ride. What do I really contribute?_

A single tear coursed down her cheek. She thought of all the times Clark had rescued her from all the oddities of Smallville. There was the time Tina Greer ambushed her in the cemetery, imprisoning her in a tomb; then the time a brilliant young student named Ian had captured both her and Chloe and attempted to throw them over the Smallville dam in an effort to keep his secret of being able to be in two places at once. And even though she couldn't prove it, she knew that Clark had somehow been involved in her rescue with the tornado. There was no possible way she could have survived; yet right before the twister picked up her truck she saw him there, standing in the road. Swept up into the twister she thought for sure she was going to die as she huddled on the floorboard of Whitney's truck, but suddenly Clark was there, covering her with his own body.

The nurses at the hospital later told her that Clark had brought her in, but he denied having anything to do with her rescue. "I heard the twisters had touched down near the bus station where you and Whitney were heading," he had said, "I came to find you and I found you lying in a field next to the road."

"You all right, girl?" Pete asked, jolting her from her thoughts.

"Yeah," she lied. "Just thinking."

* * *

After Lana and Pete left, Chloe sat for the longest time at her desk, lost in thought. She wasn't really sure what to do next, and waiting was _so_ not her style. But she couldn't risk leaving, not until she had heard back from her contact.

_I should probably fax everything I've found so far to Sheriff Ethan_, she thought distractedly. _And probably Lex. _

Gathering everything, she composed a brief cover page and sent it first over to the Sheriff's office, then to the Luthor mansion. When she had finished, she sat back down at her computer.

No, waiting _definitely_ wasn't her style.

With nothing to concentrate on, she found her thoughts drifting back to Clark. Where was her friend now? Was he still alive? Was she doing enough?

Her stomach growled and she realized she'd been too busy researching to remember lunch. But the thought of food only seemed to make her stomach curl even more. Who could eat while Clark was still missing?

Who could think clearly?

The fax machine beeped next to her, jolting her in her seat.

She picked up the printout, feeling her heart begin to beat faster with every word she read…

Forget her contact at the police department…

She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Pete, only to snap it shut again before it had the chance to ring. She didn't have time to wait for them to turn around and drive back. Beside, they needed to check out _all _leads. To have Pete and Lana turn around now would only slow down their investigation, she reasoned. She'd handle this one herself.

She grabbed her jacket and keys. She didn't know why, but something told her she finally knew where Clark was!

* * *

Two hours later, Chloe parked her car on Lee Road, several miles away from where the map said that the old sawmill was supposed to be. Very few ventured out this far in the Smallville countryside. There wasn't much out here, or at least, there wasn't supposed to be. It was amazing that she had found her way here at all. The roads had been nothing short of a tangled maze; roads that had fallen into disrepair and hadn't been used in so long that the overgrowth had gotten thick and difficult to maneuver in.

There looked to be, however, a small set of car wheel tracks embedded in the ground going in the same direction. The tracks looked recent; maybe a day or two old.

Chloe's heart beat faster.

She followed the road on foot, trying her best to keep alert. If a car suddenly came down the road she would have to make a break for the woods to hide or risk being seen.

Soon, the sawmill came into a view. Chloe suppressed a shiver; were her nerves really that shot, or was it really that creepy? The large, abandoned structure was visibly deteriorating. What walls of the building that had not been covered with creeping vines had wasted away and sections of the roof had long ago caved in.

Chloe remembered reading about the sawmill when she was first moved to Smallville. It was a small, gasoline-powered mill, run by some local entrepreneur; but though small, it provided jobs for the community in the early twentieth century. The removal of the creamed corn factory by LuthorCorp and the introduction of the fertilizer plant had shut the operation down due to lack of help. Everyone left their jobs at the mill to work at the plant, which was closer to the city of Smallville and paid more.

The doors of the mill were closed and hadn't been opened since.

A chain-link fence had been set up around the perimeter of the building to keep out all trespassers. _Climbing's out_, Chloe thought as she looked up at the barbed wire encircling the top. _I'll just have to find another way inside…_

* * *

Clark stepped off the porch just in time to see the cloud of dust that only a few seconds ago had been his ride to school. Pete and Chloe were no doubt laughing their heads off that he'd missed the bus for the third time this week.

_Bus? I haven't taken the bus since Pete got his car._

Momentarily angry with himself for taking too long _again_, a small, smirk of a smile crept across his face. Looking behind him to make sure his parents weren't looking, Clark took off past the barn and into the cornfield beyond. His parents hated it when he used his super speed to get to school. It was too risky, they said. He knew they worried about his safety, but speeding across the countryside was no great risk, especially if he stayed away from the highway. Besides, he always felt so _free _when he ran; like he was flying.

When the school came into view he slowed. He didn't want anyone seeing his sudden appearance so he stopped behind the gymnasium and made his way around.

Smallville High was bustling with movement. There was still about ten minutes before the first bell, so students were lagging outside, talking and even laughing. Several students were huddled together in the grass on the lawn, no doubt trying to do some last minute cramming before class. The jocks crowded around the flagpole, the red and yellow of their letter jackets making them stand out like some sort of club. Among them were Whitney, Joey, Matt, and a few others Clark knew of but didn't quite know their names.

_Wait a minute. Whitney's gone. He left to join the military. What's he doing here again?_

He involuntarily searched the crowd, and then there she was…

…Lana Lang. She was dressed in her cheerleading uniform and, like usual, hanging on Whitney's arm.

_This can't be right. Lana quite cheerleading when she was a Freshman. _

She looked bored, distractedly playing with the pins and medals adorning Whitney's letter jacket as if she had nothing better to do. When Lana saw Clark, however, her expression changed. Her face lit up and her eyes sparkled with delight. She left Whitney with his friends, who didn't even seem to notice she had gone, and came straight to him.

Clark was rooted to the spot. Lana put her arms around him and said, "I'm glad you're here."

_This isn't right. It can't be real_.

Whitney's face, when he finally noticed he had been ditched, flashed red with anger. Clark returned Lana's embrace, letting his book bag slip to the ground. Her necklace jingled as she moved, the green stone catching Clark's eye.

_This is all wrong. I can't go near Lana when she's wearing that. It's meteor rock!_

Lana stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft, sweet kiss on his forehead. He had to bend down slightly in order for her to reach, but he was glad he did so. Her lips were so soft…she smelled like Jasmine…

* * *

Stark fluorescent lights flickered inside the abandoned sawmill. Chloe followed a dark hallway, cautiously peering into every room, quietly moving from one hallway to the next.

After she had managed to squeeze her way through the gate she quickly found the door and started her search for Clark. The main warehouse where most of the lumber had been handled was empty. Most of the machinery still remained, though rusted, crumbling, and forsaken amongst the piles of debris from where the roof had caved in at certain points.

For the most part, the mill looked as if no one had tread inside it for years. The deeper, however, she got into the building, the more the rooms began looking used. When she had first entered the building beyond the warehouse, the rooms in which she'd searched were not only covered with layer upon layer of dust, but looking like they hadn't been accessed in ages.

It was a huge facility. Perhaps she should have waited for Pete and Lana to get back…

_No, _she scolded herself firmly. _They're following a lead, just like you._ They didn't have time to hold each other's hands in the search for Clark. There was too much at stake.

When she at last arrived at a hallway that looked like it had been recently maintained, Chloe gave a start. The door ahead and directly to her left was shut, but a beam of artificial light spilled out from the crack beneath.

Shadows moved across the floor. Someone was inside.

Chloe fought down the urge to panic and held her breath. _What if Clark's in there with them?_

The memory of her friend being tortured gave Chloe a new wave of courage. She knew she should leave, get out now while the door was still closed and find help, but she had come too far.

There were several more rooms on down the hall. She'd search them. Then, if she still found nothing, she would hide and wait for that door to open. She'd hide as long as she needed to.

Hiding was soon wiped from her mind, however, when she slipped inside the last room and spotted a slender, brown-haired figure lying unconscious atop what appeared to be a medical examination table. She recognized the prisoner instantly.

_Clark!_

Her breath left her. He wasn't moving.

* * *

_I apologize if your mouths are hanging open going, "Huh?" - the Clark/Lana thing is a dream sequence. It'll come together in the next chapter._


	8. Chapter 8

_Super-thanks to liasongh, Sandy Murray, alwayslovingsv, supernatfem76, Miss Kryptonite, MysticWolf1, and Farmqt for your reviews! I hope everyone has a good holiday weekend and stays out of trouble!_

* * *

It seemed that now the entire school was tuned in to what was going on. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch.

Clark shifted uncomfortably where he stood, but wouldn't move – couldn't move – for standing before him, wrapped in his arms, was the most beautiful creature on earth. Lana. He had been waiting for this moment his entire life.

Then he caught Whitney again out of the corner of his eye. He was no longer angry. In fact, he gave Clark the smallest, most inconspicuous nod, as if to say, "I always knew you were the better man. Take care of her."

_What's going on?_

Clark nodded in return. He looked back at Lana. She gazed adoringly up at him, her perfect smile filling him with warmth and acceptance. She was stroking his cheek; he closed his eyes to savor the bliss.

She was still stroking his cheek when he opened his eyes, but her face had darkened. She no longer smiled. Instead, she looked frightened.

"Lana, what's wrong?" he asked. Or did he ask? Did his lips even move? All he knew was that he was determined to make it right. He'd fight anyone, go anywhere for her; all she had to do was say the word.

"You've got to come back to me," she said. Her voice was trembling now.

"What? I don't understand. I'm right here."

"Clark?" she uttered, and her voice began to change. Not Lana's…someone else's…someone familiar…

"Clark, don't leave me…you just can't leave me…"

_Chloe?_

* * *

Chloe gasped. She thought she'd prepared herself; thought she'd be ready for whatever it was she found. Nothing, however, could have prepared her for this.

It was him. It was Clark…her best friend, stretched cruelly atop a medical examination table, like a body laid out for autopsy. Forgoing all prospect of danger, she rushed to his side, leaving behind the reality of the lighted room and the shadow beneath the door. Clark and Clark alone was all that mattered now.

"Clark! Oh god, Clark!" she cried.

But Clark didn't answer. He only lay there, silent and unmoving.

She caressed his face with her hands. He wasn't responding. Tears stung her eyes. "You can't die," she whispered to him. "You can't leave me…leave us again. Please…please…you can't die. Clark…wake up."

His skin was cold to the touch; his breathing shallow. When he still didn't wake, she clutched his shoulders and shook him. "Come on, Clark! Wake up!"

Then, as if in answer to her pleas, Clark stirred. _Yes! Yes! That's it!_

His eyes were moving under closed lids. Slowly, they began to open. "Lana?" he said, his voice weak and coarse.

"Shhh…" Chloe whispered. It didn't matter that he had called her Lana. He was alive. She kissed his forehead, relieved and terrified at the same time. "I'm going to get you out of here," she said urgently.

Clark's eyes were glazed and unfocused. She couldn't even tell for sure if he knew she was there. His breathing came in ragged gasps. Placing a hand against his neck, she felt for a pulse. It was there, but barely.

She remembered the video she'd witnessed back at the mansion. _If I don't get him out of here, he'll die, _she realized.

"Lana?" he said again, and the weakness in his voice frightened her.

"Clark, I'm here," she said. She smoothed his hair, trying to calm him. "It's me…Chloe."

"Chloe? …You've got to…get out of here…"

"I'm not leaving you."

"…please," he pleaded, but Chloe was already moving. She had no idea how she was going to get him out of there. Clark was twice her weight and more than a foot taller, but she was determined to try. Her slender fingers traced the cuffs that bound his arms behind the table.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the dingy medical curtain sway as a slight breeze stirred the air. Almost as soon as she noticed it, strong arms seized her.

She heard Clark cry out her name, only to be drowned out by another voice - a man's voice. "What have we here?" it hissed in her ear. "Don't tell me the Luthor boy sent _you _to rescue the faithful friend."

"Let Clark go," Chloe forced the words out, "Lex will give you anything you want. Just let him go."

Clark was now fully awake. "Chloe!" he cried, his voice growing in strength as well as panic.

Chloe clawed at the stranger's choke-hold on her. She couldn't breath.

"Nixon, don't you hurt her!" Clark roared. Panic raked his senses, numbing his self-control. He thrashed wildly, desperate to get to his friend.

Nixon watched the boy's reaction with detached curiosity and grabbed a fist full of Chloe's hair, roughly pulling it back so that the unprotected flesh of her beautiful neck was totally exposed. "Calm down, kid," he said firmly, "You wouldn't want me to hurt her, would you?"

What was left of his strength evaporated and Clark slumped back against the table. His sudden outburst and surge of adrenaline had drained him to the point of exhaustion.

"That's right," Nixon said, noting the boy's struggles had ceased almost immediately when he threatened the girl. "Save your strength, kid."

The girl continued to struggle but Nixon easily pulled her away from the table and toward a metal chair. Forcing her into it, he made quick work of her, cuffing her hands behind her back and gagging her.

The girl's presence was a setback; a liability. He should dispose of her and be done with it.

_But…_ Nixon scratched his chin thoughtfully, eyeing the attractive young blonde. Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. This girl was obviously someone the kid cared about. As long as Nixon had her, Clark would go along with him willingly.

Leaning over the edge of the table, he hovered over Clark's head. The boy had his eyes shut and was breathing hard. Sweat beaded his forehead and he looked like he would pass out again.

"Clark? Clark, can you hear me?" Nixon said loudly. "Let's make a deal, okay kid? You stop fighting against me, and I'll let your girl live. That means no more trying to escape. You play the good sport, we're all happy. Deal?"

Letting his head fall to the side, Clark opened his eyes so that he could see his friend. Tied to the chair, Chloe could do nothing but shake her head. _What have I done?_ she thought ruefully,_ Instead of helping Clark I've made things worse!_

Their eyes found each other and Chloe felt the tears hot against her cheeks. Something in Clark broke in that instant and he looked back at Nixon, defeated. "Just don't hurt her," he breathed.

"I won't, I won't," Nixon cooed, taking a syringe off the metal table at his side. "Now my boy, you exhausted yourself with that little outburst there so let's get some of that strength back."

Nixon filled the syringe with a clear liquid and squeezed out a thin stream to test it. With practiced precision he inserted the needle into Clark's arm. Chloe could only watch as her friend lost consciousness again.

* * *

Chloe was drifting off when Nixon returned. She had no idea how long he had been gone, but when he pulled back the dingy curtain, he carried a tray of metal tools and a strange beaker of thick, green liquid.

Keeping her eyes closed in an attempt to appear asleep, Chloe opened them to slits when Nixon turned his back to her. Her only hope now to help Clark was to watch and be aware of everything that was going on. She had already memorized the interior of the makeshift laboratory, noting the only exit as well as anything in the room that could be used to their advantage.

Nixon sat the tray down on the stand next to the examination table and punched keys into the computer. With expert efficiency he began taping sensors to Clark's forehead and chest. Having finished, he turned once again to the beaker and filled a dropper with the thick green liquid.

_Oh god_, Chloe thought, _Is he experimenting on Clark? Am I going to have to watch him experiment on Clark?_

As if in answer, Nixon bent over Clark's inert form and gently eased his mouth open. Dead to the world, Clark's head lolled to the side, but Nixon held him upright as he positioned the dropper over his mouth. The green liquid dripped like syrup from the dropper onto his lips. Setting the dropper aside, Nixon carefully shut Clark's mouth and stepped away from the table, unconsciously allowing Chloe a full view.

Clark began convulsing immediately. The liquid meteor rock raced through his veins, sending volcanic tremors raking through his body. He cried out in agony, an anguished grimace disfiguring his face.

Chloe gasped, her heart all but stopping.

Violently coughing, Clark's chest heaved painfully, his lungs fighting to contract enough air. Blood bubbled up through his lips, so much so that Chloe feared he would choke on his own blood if Nixon didn't do something.

She looked to their captor, horrified to find him calmly watching, holding in one hand a small, hand-held tape recorder and glancing at his watch on the other. "Blood suggesting serious internal injuries as well as the corrosive radiation poisoning," he said mechanically, speaking into recorder.

Chloe could only stare aghast at the nightmare unfolding before her. It was torture being forced to see Clark suffer. She couldn't take it! With renewed vigor, she began pulling against her restraints, wildly thrashing about in the chair to get free. The effort made her wrists hurt but she continued pulling, desperate to stop this madman from killing her friend.

It was no use. The cuffs had to be strong enough to tow a vehicle. In all her struggles, Chloe didn't so much as loosen her restraints. She did, however, manage to spit away the gag. "Stop it!" she screamed at Nixon. "You're killing him! Clark! Clark!"

* * *

Every nerve in Clark's body pulsed with sheer agony.

It was torture like he had never felt. Of all the times he had ever come in contact with meteor rock, nothing had ever hurt this much, or made him wish he were dead. The pain was excruciating, coming from _inside_, tearing at his innards, slicing tender flesh like a creature rampant to get out. Even his mind was battered by wave after wave of intense pain, able to think of nothing else except how badly he wanted it to stop.

Yet over the pain, he could hear Chloe's voice crying out somewhere above him. "Stop it!" she shouted angrily. Then she was crying out his name.

Despite the intensity of the pain, Clark's soul responded to her voice. Chloe…his best friend…his angel…his light…

Lost in darkness, his struggling consciousness crawled fitfully toward the light.

* * *

"Chloe!" Clark cried in his delirium. His head snapped from side to side, anguished groans erupting from his cracked and bleeding lips. He twisted and writhed on the table, managing to snap the cuffs that bound him.

Nixon jumped, already moving to secure the severed restraints.

"Clark!" Chloe cried.

Her pleas were met with a silencing backhand. "Shut up!" Nixon sneered.

"No…no…_Clark_…" she whimpered helplessly. Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision.

Cursing, Nixon filled a syringe with the same clear liquid and injected it into Clark's arm. It didn't take long before the kid's struggles began to lessen.

Clark was still trembling, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, when Nixon moved to release Chloe.

"What are you doing?" she cried. He unlocked the cuffs and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the chair and leading her toward the door. "No! No, don't take me away. I don't care you kill me later, just don't take me away from Clark!" she babbled, struggling against him. "Please, please, just let me stay with him!"

Her pleas fell on deaf ears. Nixon dragged her down the hall and roughly threw her into an empty cell. She landed hard on all fours, but by the time she turned to confront her captor, the huge metal door shut and locked.

* * *

Nixon cursed, wiping his hands on his jacket. What the hell had just happened? Given the kid's previous state, he should not have been able to come out of the drug-induced stupor he'd been in. The experiment had been to merely survey how his body responded to the meteor rock solution, without the aid of his conscious mind. Nixon had given him enough sedative that a screaming jet could have crashed next to him and he wouldn't have woke up. But somehow, the kid had heard _her _voice.

He was sure it was her voice. Nothing else could have triggered that kind of reaction. The boy had an emotional tie to the flaxen haired beauty; Clark not only responded to her voice, but it gave him a surge of adrenaline powerful enough to snap metal restraints like plastic.

An adrenaline rush like that would very likely kill any normal person. It was a scientific fact that the human body could only take so much stress before the heart gives out. Nixon stroked his chin; he was beginning to wonder if Clark _was_ even human.

Regardless, it was time he took some extra precautions. Keeping the kid sedated was becoming increasingly difficult. He made his way to his office where he pulled several files from his file cabinet.

His time working at the Metropolis Juvenile Center for Boys had not been totally unprofitable. As Record's keeper, Derek had access to the National Criminal Network and had been able to slice into files from the nation's top two criminal asylum's: The Belle Reeve Institution of Metropolis and the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane in Gotham City.

He knew every criminal, every freak, and every meteor-mutant that had ever been admitted to either facility. Back when he first started his quest to try and create the ultimate solider, he had read through every confidential file at least a hundred times, memorizing their side effects, their powers, taking notes on their downfalls, and studying their treatments. Now, he shuffled through the stolen records, his sharp eyes looking for one file in particular.

_There…_Nixon pulled the file. He opened it, a picture of a pretty blond girl gazed back at him. _Alicia Baker…_


	9. Chapter 9

_My apologies for being a little late on updating, but this was a really long chapter and about the middle of last week it really started to kick my butt. Thankfully, I ducked a few punches and finally won!_

_As always, bunches of thanks to alwayslovingsv, Farmqt, supernatfem76, Sandy Murray, MysticWolf1, liasongh, and Carol._

* * *

A mixture of anger and fear had formed itself into a tight ball in Chloe's gut. She paced the small cell, wracking her brain for something – anything – to do to help them. Clark needed her. She had to get out.

She searched the room, finding nothing that could possibly aide her in escape._ Not even MacGyver could get out of here_, she thought. Frustrated, she struck the wall with her fists, than sank to her knees. _Calm down, Chloe. You need to get a hold of yourself. Just think!_

The lights in the room had long since gone out, so when the door finally opened, Chloe blinked as blinding light from the outside hall came spilling inside. She sprang to her feet, preparing herself to run. It didn't matter if Nixon barred the door with his body – she'd mow him down if she had to. One way or another, she had to get back to Clark.

Before she could react, however, she stopped dead in her tracks. Nixon entered the room, one of Clark's arms slumped over his shoulder, supporting the younger man's weight. Clark was pale and he looked sick. His nose was bleeding and, aside from the blood that trickled from the corners from his mouth, he now sported several cuts and bruises across his arms and chest, evidence of the intense struggle back in the lab. Chloe's throat constricted when she saw his strong frame so weak and emaciated. As if to add insult to injury, his wrists were cuffed in front of him.

"What have you done?" she cried.

Nixon ignored her. With a grunt, he hurled Clark into the room.

Thrown forward, Clark stumbled and Chloe jumped to stop his fall. She caught him before he hit the ground, but barely, as his weight was greater than hers. Using his momentum, she eased him to the floor.

Heaving for breath, Clark wheezed, struggling to breathe.

It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Behind her, the door to the cell slammed shut and locked, leaving them alone. Hugging him to her, Chloe stroked his hair in an effort to calm him.

"Clark…oh god, Clark. What's he done to you?" she breathed. There were no words for this torture…for this inhumanity. It was cruel. Monstrous. If they lived through this, Chloe wondered if her friend would ever be the same again.

After a few moments, his eyes began to flutter.

Unpleasant sensations flooded through him. Uncertain about whether he dared risk a more vertical position, Clark cautiously turned his head. A figure was above him, stroking his cheek.

It was Chloe.

Her blond hair fell delicately over her shoulders and her hazel eyes blinked back tears. "Clark?" she whispered again.

He tried to say her name. Nothing came out.

"Shhh," she quieted him, her hand on his cheek, "Lie still."

He thought he'd dreamed her. Since Nixon's experiments had begun it was hard to tell what he was really experiencing and what he was hallucinating. He reached up and grasped her wrist. Sure enough, she was flesh and blood. He should have been happy to see her, to see some semblance of the outside world, but the thought of her being with him here in this place horrified him. He tried to move, to sit up, but she pushed against him, insisting he stay still.

His grip on her wrist tightened, but so weakly Chloe barely noticed. "Why…why did you come here?" The words were barely a croak.

"I had to find you," she said softly, "I…well…I sorta thought I could rescue you…"

Clark squeezed his eyes shut, his worst fear realized. That knowledge was far more painful to him than any experiment Nixon could put him through. It was all his fault. Chloe had come to find him, to rescue him. Now she was Nixon's prisoner - and he was powerless to save her.

Knowing that she was probably about to get an admonishment from him, Chloe braced herself. Clark did indeed try to say something, but the effort must have been too much. He winced, clutching his abdomen with his free hand as his body was beset with another convulsion. The sight made Chloe cringe. _That stuff Nixon fed him must still be in his system_.

Chloe held onto him until the fit subsided. "God Clark, what's he done to you?" Her strength in their situation was starting to surprise her. Lana, she mused, would have been a blubbering mess at this point. "Shhhh…" she whispered. If she couldn't do anything else for him at this point, she could at least be strong for him. "Save your strength, Clark. You need to rest."

He wanted to argue, but he couldn't. He settled against her, the tidal pull of the impending darkness too powerful to resist. Chloe's face blurred and her voice ebbed into the distance.

* * *

Chloe held him until she felt his body relax. At length, his hand fell limply from her wrist and his erratic breathing slowed to peaceful, steady pace.

He was a mess.

Taking care not to move so abruptly and wake him, she got up and began searching the room for a second time. It was mostly bare, but she did find some filthy dishes and a few grungy towels beneath the sink in the bathroom area.

She rinsed a bowl and filled it with water from the sink, then cleaned a towel as much as possible. Setting them next to where Clark lay, she once again nestled herself beneath him, lifting his upper body as gently as possible and laying his head on her chest.

It occurred to her that Nixon was monster enough to barge in again and snatch him away from her before she had the opportunity to care for him, but she finally reasoned that if the lunatic wanted his test subject to remain living, he had to be allowed time to heal and rest.

She wondered how long that would be.

She dipped the towel in the water and, starting first on his face, cleaned his wounds, taking painstaking care around the gash just above his right eye. She dabbed the blood away from the corners of his mouth, and the dirt and grime from his forehead and neck.

Despite herself, Chloe found herself despairing. Clark needed medical attention. He needed to be in a hospital. Who knew what terrible tortures he had already endured, the horrors he had faced alone? Who knew if he would ever wake up?

_No, don't think like that_, she scolded herself.

But she couldn't help it.

If Clark never woke up, he would never know just how much he really meant to her. If neither of them survived, she would never know what could have happened between them.

Although she'd claimed her teenage crush was over, especially after playing second fiddle to the Lana for so long, Chloe couldn't deny that she still loved him.

It was a complicated love; of that much she was certain. There were things in Clark's past that he was not willing to share with her that oftentimes made her feel unworthy of his confidence. It frustrated her, angered her, and…saddened her. Besides, Clark only had eyes for Lana. Even when he and Chloe decided to try a relationship, it hadn't worked out. He was too stuck on "the girl next door."

So how was it possible to love someone who only saw you as a friend? That was the complication - she loved Clark and he didn't reciprocate her love in that way - it was as simple and as complicated as that.

Wetting the towel again, she moved to clean the wounds on his chest. The water ran in rivulets down the outline of his lightly chiseled frame and it startled her to find that she was at ease with this intimate care.

When she reached his arms a very strange sight caught her eye. Just below his wrist on his left hand was a small, dark gray band. The band had no seam and extended all the way around his wrist like a bracelet. The veins in Clark's hand surrounding the bracelet were exceptionally prominent, unnaturally tinged green, darkest close to the bracelet and lightening in color as they snaked up his arm.

Chloe shivered. She didn't like the looks of it. She examined it further; it was metallic and smooth, with no clasp or hinge to remove it. It hummed beneath her fingertips.

Clark slept through it all, his head resting on her chest. It would be difficult getting up without waking him. Using the greatest care, she lifted his head and upper body just enough so that she was able to slip out from beneath him and, as gently as possible, lay him against the floor.

He didn't wake. She was grateful for it. He needed his rest. Perhaps, when he had regained some of his strength, they could figure out a way to get out of there. Together.

She settled down next to him, content to keep vigil through the night.

* * *

**Day 4**

Clark slept, but did not dream; he didn't have the strength to dream. He jerked in his sleep, eyes flickering restlessly beneath closed lids.

As his consciousness gradually returned, so did his memory. _Chloe! No!_

He jerked himself upright. It was a mistake; a wave of sudden and excruciating pain washed over him. Instinctively, he lay back, the pain lessoning only slightly when he did so.

Turning his head he saw that Chloe was asleep next to him, curled on her side. With her blond hair falling delicately across her face, she was the picture of perfect and complete repose. Despite himself, seeing her made him smile; he'd never seen Chloe asleep. It was kinda cute.

At least she was safe.

Looking down he saw that she had fallen asleep with one arm draped protectively around him. It should have been uncomfortable to have her this close, but for some reason, it wasn't. In fact, her presence warmed him. She hadn't left his side.

He wasn't, however, entirely sure whether or not to be grateful or angry with her. What had she been thinking coming here, looking for him? Didn't she understand the danger she put herself in?

His mind reeled. Chloe wasn't stupid. She had to have known. She had come here willingly – knowingly putting herself in danger – just to find him. He would have done the same, had their roles been switched.

The difference was, he had super-strength and impenetrable skin. It was nothing for him to put himself in danger because there was nothing in the world, save meteor rocks, that could harm him. But not Chloe. She could have been hurt coming here, could have been killed. She risked her life to find him.

On impulse, he covered her arm with his, noting grimly that both of his hands moved when he did so. Nixon must have felt it necessary to keep him bound.

Chloe shifted in her sleep and he could tell she was waking by the change in her breathing. Opening her eyes, she gave a start when she saw that he was awake. "Clark!" she exclaimed, getting to her knees and bending over him. "I'm so glad you're all right! How long have you been awake? No, scratch that. How do you feel?"

_Yep, Chloe's fine_, he mused. He coughed roughly before answering. "I've felt better," he said vaguely.

A small, tense smile lifted the corners of her lips. "You've looked better, too."

He wanted to laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm sure I have," he returned, barely recognizing his own rasping voice. His head hurt like hell and his throat burned like he had swallowed acid. Resolving not to let that stand in his way, he attempted to sit up. No good. A wave of dizziness overcame him and he fell back against the floor, the action spurring another coughing fit that lasted for several minutes.

"Take it easy," Chloe said. It was torment watching her friend suffer.

At length, the fit passed and Clark tried once again to sit up. This time, Chloe helped him. Easing him toward the wall, she was able to prop his back up against the cold steel.

The effort exhausted him. His head lolled and Chloe held onto him until she was sure he wouldn't fall over when she let go. He was burning up.

Standing, she grabbed the bowl from the previous night and filled it with cool water. She soaked the towel in the bowl, wrung it out, and knelt next to him, using the towel to dab his face.

"You need to slow down," she said firmly. She knew her presence would spur Clark to try and push himself to the limit to save them. As noble an effort as that would be, she couldn't allow it – she wouldn't. She wouldn't let him exhaust himself; they were in this together now.

"I'm sorry," Clark said, breaking the silence between them and surprising her with his tone of voice. He didn't sound angry at all that she'd come…he sounded sad. It was the complete opposite of how she had envisioned him reacting. "I'm sorry I brought you into this."

Chloe shook her head. She should have expected it; he wasn't angry – he was blaming himself. That was worse; she'd almost rather him be angry with her.

She wasn't about to let him blame himself for her capture, the Kent-morality be damned. "You didn't bring me into this, Clark. I did." Dipping the towel into the water, she dabbed at the gash above his eye. "I made my own choice by coming here. I'm just sorry I got caught. If I hadn't been captured there's a chance you would have been rescued by now."

"There's also a chance I'd be dead," he countered.

She blinked at him; his words surprised her. She dropped her eyes from the wound she tended to meet with his own, surprised further to find no sarcasm or insincerity in his gaze. _Was it just wistful thinking or…_

_No_, she scolded herself. _Don't even go there._

Chloe had no idea what had transpired back in the lab. Clark himself wasn't entirely sure, but he had the distinct feeling that if she hadn't been there, if her voice hadn't called to him, that he might not have found the strength to pull through it.

Regardless, she was listening now; he had to make her understand. "If you get the chance," he pressed, "You've got to get out of here. Promise me…you'll do everything possible to get out of here…and you won't worry about me."

"Clark, this is no time to be a hero," she said firmly, pushing aside the urgency of his eyes and returning to cleaning the wound. "I know you've got this hero-complex thing but forget it, I'm not leaving you."

"This isn't a hero-complex," he said, grimacing. _Doesn't she understand?_ Angrily, he reached up and grabbed her wrist, stopping her. "Just listen to me for once, all right? You've got to promise me."

"Look, I said forget it."

"Promise me."

"I can't. You can't ask me to leave you here."

"Yes I can."

The tension was growing thicker by the minute. They were both getting angry, both voices rising. Clark had broken out in a sweat and she knew she should do something to calm him before he got himself too worked up, but damn it, she didn't come here so _he_ could protect _her_. He might not be used to someone else doing to protecting, but tough. She was staying with him and that was that. He needed her; he was just too damn noble to admit it!

"If it were me and I was the one hurt, would you leave me?"

Her question caught him off guard. "No," he stammered.

"Then you can't ask me…"

"That's different!"

Okay, now he was really starting to piss her off. "Why? Why is that different? Tell me, Clark! Why?"

"Because if anything happened to you I'd never forgive myself!" he practically shouted at her.

Chloe had to look away. She was too angry, and too overwhelmed. She found a sense of security in the distraction of the faucet in the bathroom area dripping into the sink. Several moments of uncomfortable silence slipped by.

Even if she got the chance to escape, could she really leave him? Could she really abandon him? Leave him for dead? Clark was strong, but how long would he be able to hold out until Nixon's experiments killed him?

In reality, it wasn't like she would be able to lift him over her shoulder and carry him out if he was too weak to make it on his own. Chloe wasn't weak, but she knew that if Clark collapsed while they were on the run, she wouldn't be physically strong enough to pick him back up.

Clark erupted in yet another intense coughing fit, pulling her out of her angry reverie. Her anger forgotten, she leaned forward and placed her palm on his forehead. His skin was clammy, and still very much hot to the touch. "Arguing isn't going to do us any good," she said, softer this time. "Come on. Let's see if we can put our heads together and figure out a way to get out of here."

Reluctantly, Clark nodded. Indeed, arguing wasn't going to get them anywhere. Well, arguing with Chloe, anyway. He took a deep, cooling breath and tried to clear his mind, to form a rational thought. Chloe had come here looking for him, which meant she knew where they were. That would help. "Do you know where we are?"

"The old sawmill," she answered.

"Yikes," Clark breathed. They were _really _far from home. "There goes walking." He blinked tiredly. "Any suggestions?"

Chloe glanced around the room. "Not at the moment. Do you think you can stand?"

Shifting his weight, Clark struggled to get to his feet. The effort was too much; he sagged back against the wall.

"No," he said, frustrated and breathing hard. "I don't understand it. It's almost like he's doing something to me to keep me weak."

The memory of the bracelet came to her mind. Lifting his hand, Chloe examined the smooth steel. It was no longer humming. "Do you think it has anything to do with this?"

Clark studied the band as Chloe filled him in on what she had seen. Though his arm and wrist looked normal now, what she was describing – the way his veins prominently stood out of his skin and took on a greenish color – added with his weakness and discomfort, told him all he needed to know. Nixon must have figured out a way to dilute the effects of the meteor rocks. There was no other explanation. Nothing else on the planet had the power to hurt him and it made perfect sense now how Nixon was able to not only take him, but also keep him.

"I don't know," Clark said at length, stretching the truth just a little. He felt bad for misleading her, but he couldn't exactly explain the truth that he was an alien with a deadly reaction to meteor rock and that Nixon had somehow found a way to exploit his only weakness. _Yeah, that would go over well. _"Maybe the band injects some kind of sedative into my system," he offered instead. It made sense: a small dose at different intervals of the day would be enough to seriously weaken, without killing him. That would explain why his body wasn't healing as fast as it should.

One thing was for sure, no matter how diluted the form, prolonged exposure to the poisonous material could not be good for his health.

"A sure fire-plan to keep a captive from escaping," Chloe said grimly, looking over the band.

"Then maybe that's where we should start," Clark replied.

"You think if we found a way to take it off you might get some of your strength back?"

Clark stiffened at her casual use of the word "strength," but then reminded himself that she wasn't talking about his alien abilities. Right now, he didn't even have the strength to stand on his own, let alone rip off the cell door.

"It's worth a shot," he replied. He had barely begun to pick at the bracelet when, without warning, it hit him.

Waves of nausea churned in his stomach, causing him to gasp and choke. A spasm twisted his insides and he clutched his stomach.

"Clark!" Chloe cried in surprise.

White-hot pain speared through him like fire. Shocked and confused, he raised his hand before his eyes. The shallow veins running along the back of his left hand enlarged and took on a sickly green hue as he watched the fiery venom race through them. The green tracery extended from beneath the band on his wrist to his fingertips, pulsing beneath his skin.

Then, his vision went dark.

Chloe watched in horror as Clark lost focus and began to pass out.

He landed hard on his side, his breath leaving him.

"Oh my god! Clark!"

Clark's body began to tremble and his eyes lulled into the back of his head. Scrambling, Chloe rolled him onto his back and shook him in an attempt to keep him conscious. When that didn't work, she slapped his face. "Clark! Come on Clark!" she cried, "Don't pass out on me! You're going into shock. You have to stay awake!"

Stemming directly from beneath the bracelet, the spidery veins in Clark's left hand wriggled and throbbed beneath the skin. Frantic, Chloe groped at the bracelet. It hummed beneath her fingers but no matter how hard she tried, the band could not be loosened or removed.

At length, the humming stopped. It was only then that Nixon entered the room.

His very presence infuriated her. Without knowing exactly what she would do or what she would say, Chloe stood, glaring at the scientist. She could feel her hands shaking with fury, her chest rising and falling now with each angry breath. "I don't know what you've done to him but you've got to stop it NOW!" she spat. "Don't you see it's killing him?"

Nixon's nostrils flared. "It won't kill him," the scientist said curtly. "But it is necessary."

"Necessary for WHAT?" she cried incredulously.

Nixon fixed her with a curious look, his fox-like eyes scrutinizing her. Chloe held his gaze, unwilling to back down.

Finally, he spoke. "You don't know, do you?"

Chloe flinched, taken aback. _What was that supposed to mean?_ Without thinking, every fear, every premonition, every doubt she had ever had about Clark not being entirely truthful with her came back to her. Was it possible this madman knew something about her friend that she did not? _Get a hold of yourself, Chloe!_ she cautioned herself._ He's just playing with you!_ "And just what is it that I'm supposed to know?" she asked calmly.

He raised his eyebrows in what she could only take as a sort of cryptic amusement. "And here I thought you were the best friend."

That did it.

Furious, Chloe flung herself at him.


	10. Chapter 10

_Okay, is anyone else in the world freezing? They're calling for an ice storm tonight – an ice storm! On the good side, hopefully tomorrow I'll be "iced" in and can't go to work (giggles evilly)._

_Thanks a million times over to those of you who reviewed my Chapter 9: alwayslovingsv, MysticWolf1, Lil chap welsh nd proud, supernatfem76, cool-people-suck, Farmqt, and marikology. You guys are the best!_

* * *

"You can't blame yourself…"

The voice belonged to his mother. She spoke as if she were next to him. Trying to turn, to reach out to her, Clark met with only darkness. Darkness and the sickening sense that something wasn't right.

"You can't change who you are…"

He groaned, consciousness lingering just out of reach. His mother was still speaking, but he couldn't pinpoint from where. _"As long as you live, people will try to exploit you…"_

Something sharp stung his face.

_ "Your father and I have tried to shelter you as long as possible, but one day we won't be there for you. And you're gonna have to carry the burden of your gifts on your own."_

Again, something sharp stung his face and he felt his head snap sideways.

"Wake up, Clark," an impatient voice said. A male voice, not his mom's.

The blow woke him and he opened his eyes, blinking fiercely.

"About time you came to," Nixon grumbled.

Raising his head, Clark found that he was back in the lab. This time, however, he was sitting up, probably in a chair, with his hands bound behind him. Nixon stood in front of him, massaging his hand. Apparently, he'd been trying to wake him the "hard" way. He didn't look happy.

Even with the splitting headache that was beginning to surface at the back of his skull, Clark couldn't help but smile. Although his face stung a little, he knew that Nixon had probably thrown out his shoulder trying to hit him with enough force. _Good old impenetrable skin._

Nixon scowled and picked up his clipboard. He then moved a nearby chair so that he could sit directly in front of his captive. Clipboard on his knee, he pulled a pen from the pocket of his grungy lab coat.

The smile still on his face, Clark decided to see how far he could push his captor. "Is this the part where we have a heart to heart talk?"

"I'd like you to answer some questions for me, Clark," he said simply.

"And why should I do that?"

The scientist ignored him. "How fast can you run?"

Clark laughed aloud. "How should I know?"

"All right - your strength, how much do you think you can lift?"

"I don't know. Untie me. I'd be happy to show you."

Nixon looked up, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. "You're in no position to be demanding anything from me."

"I think I am," Clark shot back. He ignored the hammering pains thudding throughout his skull and continued, "You wanna make your weapon? That means you need something from me. That's puts me in exactly that position."

Nixon stood, his face reddening slightly. "Don't test my patience, kid," he growled, "Or I just might take out my frustrations on your little girlfriend."

Clark clamped his mouth shut, a hint of panic causing his pulse to quicken. Nixon wouldn't harm Chloe. He wouldn't allow it.

"You leave Chloe out of this," he said.

Satisfied, Nixon sat down again, his face returning to the infuriating mask of calm. "Now, how fast can you run?"

"I told you the truth – I don't know."

"How much can you lift?"

"I don't know that either."

"Have you ever come across anything you couldn't lift?"

Clark shifted uncomfortably. "Not really."

"When did you first realize you had powers?"

"Uhhh, I think I was like eight," he answered, picking a random age and not feeling bad in least for lying. If Nixon wanted him to cooperate then fine, but he didn't say anything about being truthful.

Having asked all his questions, Nixon stood, laying his clipboard aside and turned his back to Clark.

Clark took the moment's reprieve to shut his eyes. The pounding in his skull hadn't lessoned any, but darkness cooled the ache. He was so tired…

"Don't pass out on me, kid."

He opened his eyes. Nixon was now beside him, glancing back and forth from the computer monitor to his notebook and scribbling things down.

Looking up at him now, Clark noticed something he hadn't before. Nixon had a black eye. _Where'd he get that? _he found himself wondering.

"Now, Clark, I need you to relax," Nixon said. "If my calculations are correct, this will only hurt a little."

Instead of relaxing, Clark tensed. _What did he mean by that?_

His question was answered when Nixon pulled a small handgun from a drawer in his desk.

Clark's heart immediately skipped a beat. Normally, a gun of any kind would not affect him, let alone frighten him. Regularly being in the presence of meteor rock, however, was a different story entirely.

Nixon aimed and fired before Clark had time to protest.

The bullet struck his arm, just above the elbow. He cried out in pain, feeling the burning sensation of the bullet tearing into his skin throughout his entire body.

"Interesting," he heard Nixon say.

Clark clenched his jaw against the pain, so hard that by the time he let it slacken his muscles were sore from the pressure. Horrified, he looked at his arm, shocked at what he saw. The bullet had not penetrated his skin entirely. Oh, it broke the skin all right, but it had imbedded itself in his partially-impenetrable flesh like an irritating splinter.

"Very interesting," Nixon repeated, bending to inspect the wound. Dark red blood poured from the entry site. Taking his time, Nixon selected a silver pair of forceps and not-so-gently plucked the bullet from its bloody residence in his arm.

Clark bit his bottom lip in an attempt to contain himself, but a tortured groan still escaped him.

Nixon held up the forceps, inspecting the crushed bullet. Only after his observation and note-taking did he turn to tend the wound. He wiped the blood away, undeterred by his prisoner's obvious discomfort, and was surprised to find the wound had not healed already.

Clark was now on the verge of passing out from loss of blood. Frowning, Nixon wrapped the wound with medical tape. This was bad. Clark still wasn't healing near as fast as he should.

After he had finished recording his findings, Nixon returned Clark to his cell, cursing because the kid was too weak to make it on his own and too damn heavy to carry.

He didn't understand it – his calculations just weren't adding up. His theory about Clark was becoming more and more unlikely. Indeed, he had the powers to prove that he'd had some kid of exposure, but all the information he had collected thus far pointed in a different direction.

But which direction?

Clark's blood was like nothing he had ever seen. He couldn't even begin to understand it's molecular structure. He had yet to come across a case where meteor exposure mutated even the blood that ran through a person's veins. There were other oddities as well; things that just didn't add up. Most meteor "freaks" had only one power after exposure to the alien material – Clark had several, not to mention his stable brain activity. Most meteor-infected suffered from some form of mental breakdown, the instability often feeding on the individual's personal demons. Those individuals would become not only mentally unstable and dangerous to themselves, but dangerous to those around them; after all, the human body was not designed to take the strains of the sudden introduction of alien radiation.

So how was Clark special? What had happened to him that had not happened to anyone else? What secret was in his genetic makeup that set him aside from other meteor victims? The questions were infuriating.

Regardless, the fact of the matter remained that in order for him to continue his research and unlock the secret that was Clark Kent, it was imperative that the kid remain living. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. It was possible that his body was not healing as fast as it should because it had not been given an adequate amount of time to do so.

In theory, the alien radiation was only supposed to hurt him when he came in direct contact with it. Perhaps a little reprieve? Not too long, of course; should the kid recover fully, he would be able to use his gifts to spring both he and his little friend.

Perhaps it was also time Miss Sullivan was put to good use.

* * *

Chloe heard her name being spoken. Groggy and disoriented, she slowly twisted around. It was Clark's voice calling her name.

She propped herself up on one elbow. Her jaw was sore and there was a dull throbbing in her muscles, but she didn't feel anything broken. She wondered how long she'd been out.

"Chloe?" Clark's voice sounded worried. She sat up, moving carefully in case a vertical position would spark another relapse. It didn't. She did, however, have a slight headache.

Moving as fast as she dared, she pushed herself to her feet. Clark's hands were holding onto her, ready to catch her if she fell. But she didn't fall and when she was fully upright, she looked about the room.

Nixon was gone. She turned to Clark. His skin had paled considerably since she last saw him and his eyes had an odd glaze to them. His right arm was also bandaged just above the elbow, a circular stain of red gracing the center of it. She reached out and grasped the injured arm in surprise. "What happened to you?" she demanded.

"One of Nixon's experiments," he said. He would have dropped it there, but he knew Chloe would never accept such a brief explanation. "I don't know what he did," he added. "I was out of it. Are _you_ all right?"

As he expected, she wasn't ready to give up on her interrogation. "You don't remember? You just woke up with your arm bandaged?"

"Pretty much," he answered. "And when I woke up I found you passed out on the floor." It wasn't a total lie; he really didn't remember being returned to his cell, only that when he awoke he found Chloe unconscious on the floor next to him. "What happened?" he pressed.

"I…uh…"

He stopped her. His eyes, as they studied her face, shadowed suddenly with anger. Reaching out he touched her chin, moving it slightly so that he could see her profile.

There, on Chloe's forehead, was a large, ugly scab, surrounded by an even uglier purple bruise.

"Chloe, where did you get _that_?"

"Get what?" she asked, confused.

"That!" he said, lightly touching her forehead.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, pushing his hand away and covering the sore spot.

"What'd he do to you?" he demanded. "What happened?"

There was no use in lying to him. "Nixon came in after you passed out," she said, "and I…uh…well…"

"Well, what?"

"I hit him."

"You hit him?" he cried. "Chloe!"

_That explains the black eye_. He should have been angry with her; it was reckless, what she'd done. And stupid. And impulsive. And…and so very Chloe.

She had tried to protect him. Again.

Chloe braced herself for the lecture that was sure to follow. Clark remained silent, though. She let him lay his hand on her cheek and turn her face toward him. His eyes were apprehensive, angry even…but not angry with her. No, they radiated compassion and concern for her. It was touching really. Chloe felt herself blush. _It was almost like…_

Clark let his hand fall from her cheek, suddenly aware of the closeness.

They stood face to face, scant inches apart. Chloe had no idea how long they stood there, only that ever since she'd known him she had only dreamed about being this close to the man she loved; for him to gaze at her as he did now. Thought and logic escaped her; for a moment, there was no pain, no despair, there was only Clark and his piercing blue eyes staring back at her.

_Click_. Clark's eyes snapped toward the noise, pushing Chloe behind him even as he did so in an effort to place his body between her and the opening door.

Confused and disappointed all at the same time, Chloe was about to protest when Nixon stepped inside the room. In spite of herself, she was pleased to note that he now sported a nasty black eye, about the size of a small fist.

"Miss Sullivan," he addressed her casually, as if nothing had happened between them. "If I could see you in my office, please."

Clark stepped protectively in front of her. There was no way in hell he was letting him take her, especially not now. Not after what she'd done. "You're not taking her," he said heatedly.

Nixon only looked at him, as a child might look at a bug. Then, almost casually, he reached into his jacket pocket. Chloe tried to make out what was in his hand but couldn't.

Suddenly, Clark cried out. He doubled over in pain, dropping to one knee.

"Clark!" she screamed.

The veins in his left hand bulged beneath the skin. Catching him, Chloe struggled to keep him upright. Whatever it was Nixon had taken out of his pocket, he had activated the bracelet with it.

"Turn it off!" she demanded.

"Do I have your attention?"

"Yes! Yes! Just turn it off!"

Nixon released the button and Clark collapsed to the ground.

"Now, Miss Sullivan. My office?"

"Chloe…don't!" he stammered.

"It's all right, Clark," she said. She kept her voice as calm as possible; there was no way she was letting Nixon see her frightened. "I'll be fine."

She put her hand on his face, like he had done to her only moments ago, and met his eyes. "I'll be fine," she repeated.

With that, Chloe allowed Nixon to take her arm and lead her away from the cell and back to the lab. She shivered at the sight of the examination table where she had first found Clark unconscious and cruelly stretched across it like some kind of Frankenstein. Nixon had made some adjustments to it, she noticed. Silver manacles had been added to both the top and the foot of the table. She felt a cold chill, remembering how Clark had broken clean through the handcuffs that had held him down to the table. Nixon was taking extra measures to ensure that didn't happen again.

"How do you know my name?" she asked as they walked.

"I know a lot more than you could possibly realize," he replied.

Opening a door at the far end of the room, Nixon shoved her inside. This room was smaller, just large enough for a desk and a file cabinet. The wall behind the desk was illuminated with X-ray negatives, the desk cluttered with little yellow sticky notes and wadded up pieces of paper.

Nixon closed the door, but didn't bother locking it. Instead, he pushed past her and picked a clipboard up off his desk.

"You're not going to tie me up?" Chloe asked, confused.

Nixon looked up from his clipboard. "No," he answered, innocently.

"How do you know I won't make break for it?"

He narrowed his eyes, as if considering her words. "Because, I believe that by now you ought to know what kind of a man I am. I said I wouldn't hurt you as long as Clark cooperated with me. And, despite our previous 'scuffle', I'm a fair man. The same goes for you. You give me what I want and your friend lives."

"You call that living?" she spat. "You're experimenting on him like he's some kind of a lab rat!"

"All in the name of science, I assure you," he said calmly.

"Science?" she replied, disgusted beyond belief. "What kind of a monster are you?"

Nixon drew himself up to his full height, which was just about as tall as Clark, if not an inch or two taller. Chloe flinched, but she didn't back down.

"Let's just cut to the chase, shall we Miss Sullivan?" he replied, the picture of complete calm. "Now I find myself in a situation where you are more useful to my efforts alive. As long as you don't make me regret it, which I've already come dangerously close to doing, we can make this as short and painless on Clark as possible."

Chloe swallowed. _As short and painless? _"I don't understand."

Nixon set the clipboard down. "Clark's body is becoming increasingly fragile. He's not healing as fast as he ought to be and I can't continue my research until he's regained an optimal percentage of his strength."

Chloe crossed her arms, glaring at the scientist. "Gee, now who's fault could _that_ be?" she jeered, "Of course his body's fragile - these tests you're doing on him are killing him!"

"I won't dally words with you, Miss Sullivan. If you want to help Clark then you'll aide me in nursing him back to health."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she cried, throwing her arms out. She knew she shouldn't be yelling at the man who could at any moment kill them both, but words fueled by twenty four hours…no…_4 days_ of pent up frustration came spewing out. "You're the scientist here! Tell me! With a towel and a little bowl of water? Are you insane? Clark needs proper care. He needs to be in a hospital!"

"That's something I cannot provide," he said. "Think on a smaller scale."

"How about blankets?" she snapped, "You lock him in a cold cell with nothing in the room except for a table! It's freezing in there and he's running a fever that's dangerously high!"

"Anything else?" he prompted.

Chloe crossed her arms again, fixing him with an irritated gaze. "Other than freedom? How about food? Clark's been missing for four days; when was the last time you fed him? Or gave him water?"

The look on Nixon's face was all the answer she needed and it sickened her.

"Thank you," he said politely. "If you'll accompany me to the store room, I'll get you what you need."


	11. Chapter 11

_Thanks to supernatfem76, alwayslovingsv, MysticWolf1, marikology, cool-people-suck, and gilo for reviewing my Chapter 10! Your words have really been encouraging._

* * *

More than anything else in the world, Clark wanted Chloe to come back.

How long had she been gone? Was she all right? What was Nixon doing to her?

Minutes slipped by as if they were hours. When he had enough strength, he moved himself from where he had fallen on the floor to where he could lean with his back propped up against the cell wall. Perhaps, if he were sitting upright, it would be easier to stay awake. He couldn't pass out, not without knowing Chloe was safe. Especially since it was his fault she had gone.

Consciousness toyed with him. He tried to focus; tried to think about Chloe, but the urge for sleep was getting harder and harder to resist. His head kept lolling onto his chest, and every time he would wake in a coughing fit that would last until he had no breath left to continue.

Leaning his head back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to rethink their situation. He had to get to Chloe. He had to get them out of there.

_Think Clark, think!_

He was getting weaker, not stronger. His body wasn't healing itself - why? _Because of the bracelet_. Somehow the bracelet was strong enough to prevent him from using his abilities and seriously weaken him – but it wasn't strong enough to kill him right out. _Like Alicia's bracelet, _he found himself thinking. _The lead in the bracelet kept her from teleporting._

Alicia could teleport once the bracelet was removed.

He had to get the bracelet off. He had to get his strength back.

All he could think about was getting Chloe to safety. Knowing that at she was there with him, alone somewhere outside with Nixon, gave him a purpose larger than himself.

As if having a larger purpose to concentrate on gave him strength, Clark pushed against the wall and lurched to his feet. The world around him spun and his knees buckled. Groaning, he staggered against the little metal table. If he could just get to his feet perhaps he could search the room, find something to aid him in getting the bracelet off his wrist.

* * *

It was still dark when Nixon led her back to their cell and she heard it before she saw it. To her dismay, she saw that he looked even more sick and pain stricken than he did a few hours ago. Ashen and trembling, she returned to find Clark slumped against the table, coughing viciously.

Dropping the items in her hands, she raced to him. Blood spattered the table he used to hold himself up, no doubt from the vicious cough. Sweat beaded his forehead and a thin line of blood trickled from his nose down his chin.

"Clark, what are you doing?" Chloe cried. "You should be resting."

She grabbed him by the shoulders and tried easing him around, but his hands wouldn't let go of the table. "I've got to get us out of here," he said through clenched teeth.

"We will get out of here," she insisted, "But you've got to take it easy. You're not going anywhere half dead. Now let go."

He shook his head stubbornly. "No, I can do this. I've just…gotta stay on my feet."

"Clark, let go," she insisted. Clark was stubborn and when he set his mind to something, he wasn't easily swayed. She found his eyes. "Clark, we're gonna get out of here, but you _have _to get some of your strength back. I can't carry you. Now, will you just chill out and take it easy?"

Reluctantly, Clark let go of the table and allowed her to ease him to the floor. His strength evaporated almost immediately and he had to fight to keep his head raised.

Chloe retrieved the stack of blankets she had dropped by the door and unfolded one behind him. Nixon had given her several items, none of them in the best of quality, but it was a start. Two dusty blankets, some clean towels, a jug of water and some stale food, all of which looked like they had occupied the mill's storeroom since it had shut down.

Gently pushing against him, she ushered him to lie down. He didn't fight her. She covered him with the other blanket and when she had made Clark as comfortable as possible, she moved to clean up the mess. She wiped the blood from the table with a towel, wondering if whatever it was that Nixon had fed him during that first experiment had damaged his throat enough to cause the blood.

Behind her, Clark began to cough again and the vicious cough made her cringe. He rolled onto his side, his breathing sounding somewhat restrained. When the fit finally passed he pulled blood-spattered hands away from his mouth.

She wiped his hands with the towel. He was shivering. "We've got to get you out of here, Clark," she whispered. "It just keeps getting worse."

"I'm…so tired," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Stay with me," Chloe said firmly, bending over him. His eyes weren't focusing so she took his head in her hands. "Clark, I know you're very tired but I need you to stay with me for just a little while longer."

He tried to smile. She took that as a good sign. She knew he must be exhausted, but it was important for him to stay awake. Suddenly she was very thankful for all those First Aid classes her father had made her take Freshmen year. She moved her hands to his neck, feeling for his pulse and listening.

"I want you to roll on to your side, okay?" she said when she'd finished. With all of the blood he had just coughed up it was likely that if he remained on his back he could choke.

He didn't argue or question her, for which she was thankful. He had all the symptoms of someone whose body was bordering on shock: confusion, pale, clammy skin, shallow breathing, rapid but weak pulse.

Every nerve felt as though it had gone numb. Yet, somehow, Clark managed to roll onto his side as Chloe instructed. She knew it wasn't comfortable for him, but perhaps that would aid in his staying awake.

Clark blinked a few times before turning to look at her. "So," he said, indicating to the blankets, "Where'd these come from?"

Chloe smiled, guiltily. "Nixon gave them to me."

"Has our mad scientist had a change of heart?" he joked.

"No," she replied. Her smile melted into a thin line. "He uh…he wants me to nurse you back to health, that way he can continue his research when you're stronger."

"What'd you tell him?"

"Well…I agreed. But not so that his experiments can continue. Because as soon as you're stronger we can find a way to get out of here. Together."

Clark gave a weak smile. "Then I'll do my best to recover."

"You do that," she said, "In the mean time, let's do some brainstorming."

"Is there any way anyone could know you followed me here?"

She shook her head, gloomily. "I don't think so. I took the only copy of the fax with me and neither Pete or Lana know that my source actually found this place."

"But they've got to realize by now that you're missing, too."

"I don't know," she replied, smoothing his hair with her fingertips. Touching him was becoming a habit. "I haven't always been real great with letting dad know where I'm at. He's used to my long nights at the _Torch_. If I didn't come home he'd probably think I'd fallen asleep at my computer and forgot to call.

But we can't give up hope, though. Lex has had his people crawling all over your case since the very beginning. Pete and Lana helped me investigate nonstop and your parents, they've done everything humanly possible except post MISSING signs on telephone poles, which I have no doubt they'll do if you don't turn up soon."

Clark closed his eyes, almost dreamily. "I can't wait to see them again. I'll never…c-complain about…f-feeding the chickens again."

She watched as he blinked unsteadily. "Are you still with me?" she prompted.

At length he answered, "Doing my best."

"Why don't you keep talking to me," she suggested. "It may help."

Clark tried to smile again. "What is there to talk about?"

"Good question," she said, trying to sound as cheery as possible. "Tell me a joke, a story. Something about you that I don't know."

If he would have had the strength, he would have laughed. _Something about me that you don't know._

"Well, I'm…uh…afraid of heights," he said.

There was a spark of interest in Chloe's eyes. "Really?" she said. "You know, I would never have thought so."

"Why is that?"

Chloe paused, thinking. She drew her knees under her chin and rested her hands on them. "You just…always seem so confident. Like nothing in the world scares you."

It was a moment before he had a reply. "I'm actually afraid of a lot of things."

"Like what?" she probed.

Clark fell silent, like he usually did when he was keeping something from her. To her surprise, however, he responded.

"…Like messing up…disappointing my parents…losing someone I love."

She nodded. "I'm afraid of those things too, Clark. I guess that's what makes us human."

* * *

**Day 5**

Pete arrived at the _Torch_ to find it deserted.

_Odd_, he thought. He half expected to find Chloe at her computer, beating away at the keyboard like a woman on a mission.

For that matter, if Lana's message was as urgent as she'd made it sound, he'd have thought both she and Chloe would already be here waiting for him.

He switched on the lights, Chloe's trademark Wall of Weird catching his eye. Although he spent most of his time teasing her about her obsession, he had to admit, he was fascinated by the strange and unexplained happenings in Smallville since the meteor shower. Shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, he wandered over to the wall. Chloe had an eye for the strange, and it was evident in the mixed assortment of newspaper clippings, Internet printouts, photographs, and anything else she thought "weird" enough to tack to the cluttered collage that was the Wall of Weird.

He looked over the articles: a 5-legged lamb, a watermelon the size of a cow, a warmth-sucking-jock. _Yeah, life in Smallville is weird._

Then a newspaper article Chloe wrote about one of Clark's heroic deeds caught Pete's eyes and he found himself staring long and hard at it. Clark had been missing for going on five days now and they still didn't have any new leads. Pete cursed inwardly, wishing with everything he had that there was something he could do. He reached out and touched the article with his fingers, "We'll find ya, buddy," he whispered to himself.

The door behind him squealed as it opened and Lana hurried inside, her cell in one hand and her purse in the other.

"Thanks for coming, Pete," she said, setting her things down next to Chloe's computer.

"What's the urgency?" he asked.

"It's Chloe," she said briskly, "Have you talked to her at all lately?"

"No, not since Tuesday, when we all parted to go check out our leads. Why?"

Lana frowned. "That's what I was afraid of. She didn't come home Tuesday night."

"She hasn't called or anything?"

"No, and her dad is totally starting to freak out. She isn't answering her cell and nobody has seen or heard anything from her. Even Debbie at the Beanery hasn't seen her."

"Yikes," Pete said. It wasn't at all like Chloe to miss her morning double tall. "Has she ever done anything like this before? I mean, not come home for a night and then show up later? Maybe all this stress just got to her and she went to stay with somebody. She's got a cousin in Metropolis, you know."

"Without getting permission or even telling her dad?"

"Well, that's not really Chloe-like, is it? When was the last time you saw her?"

"Tuesday, here, same as you. I called her after you dropped me off at home and left a message that we didn't find anything, but she never called me back. I'm really worried, Pete. With Clark getting kidnapped and all this craziness going around, who knows what could have happened to her."

"Have you guys called the police?"

"Yeah. Sheriff Ethan thinks she may have gone out to look for him."

"That is something Chloe would do. Wait a second," Pete said as an idea came to him. "Tuesday when we last saw her she said she was waiting on her contact at the State to get back with her on some information about land or property owned by the Nixon family. Did she get any answers?"

Lana looked confused. "I don't think so. The Sheriff said that she sent all of her information off to him before she went missing. Why?"

Pete didn't answer. He made straight for Chloe's computer and switched it on. Nothing in the email. He checked the fax machine and punched a few buttons.

"What are you doing?" Lana asked.

"Checking the history on here," he answered. "It'll tell us if Chlo received a fax after she sent all her information off…and it looks like…yes she did!" he cried, triumphantly. "Look here. A fax came in Tuesday night at 7:30 from a Topeka number."

"It could have been anything," Lana pointed out.

"Yeah, it could have been anything, but it's convenient that Chloe disappeared after getting it. I'd say Chloe got the location and decided to go Sherlock Holmes by herself."

"Do you think she got caught?"

"I don't know," Pete answered, printing the missing fax. He took the sheet of paper from the machine and folded it in half. "But it wouldn't hurt to check this place out."


	12. Chapter 12

_Whew! I gotta tell you guys, you guys are awesome! Thank you so much for your reviews - especially Farmqt, Poppycat123, pollypocket911, Lil chap welsh nd proud, alwayslovingsv, nrgirl90, MysticWolf1, trigun1509, and peasonearth1234!_

* * *

Chloe woke, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Nixon had left them alone for a full night - just as he had promised. Clark slept quietly beside her, his breathing peaceful. She brushed a stray strand of dark hair from his face, pausing momentarily to study his countenance. He definitely looked better. The food and water Nixon had provided hadn't been much, but some of his color had returned and his eyes didn't appear to be as sunken in as before.

She sat up and stretched. He didn't wake. Not even when the door to their cell opened and Nixon stepped inside.

"All right, young lady, it's time," he said.

Chloe stood, locking eyes with him. "No. Not now. He's not ready."

"He's ready when I say he's ready," the scientist replied gruffly.

Chloe could only watch as the older man ripped Clark from the floor. Barely conscious, Clark was dead weight in his arms. The scientist struggled for a moment, hefting the young man's arm over his shoulder before turning his back on her.

"You can't do this," she insisted, her words both heated and loud. "Don't you see it's killing him?"

Nixon ignored her, dragging Clark toward the door.

"No!" she said louder. This time she grabbed onto the scientist's arm. "Listen, I don't know what that last experiment of yours was but he lost a lot of blood and now he's…"

Nixon jerked his arm away from her grasp, clearly annoyed and cutting her off.

Chloe, however, wasn't about to give up. "He's not even conscious," she protested.

"I don't need him to be conscious," Nixon answered.

"Then let me come with you."

"No."

Chloe pursed her lips. She'd been fighting with Nixon ever since she'd come here. Her arguments were getting her nowhere. It was time to switch tactics, maybe try speaking his language. If he didn't understand the value of human life he certainly wouldn't understand her need to be with Clark, no matter what. Perhaps if she approached it in a way that Nixon couldn't argue with…

"You want me to care for your lab rat?" she challenged, "Then I've got to know what I'm caring for! You can't just dump him back in here after you're done and expect me to know how to help him. He'll die before you can even plan your next move."

Her words reflected a cruelty that turned her insides. Nixon however, paused in mid-step, considering. "Fine," he nodded. He reached into his pocket, pulling out what Chloe recognized to be the remote that activated the bracelet on Clark's wrist. "You can come but," he added somberly, "If you try anything funny, I have no problem pushing this little black button here."

He paused, allowing the threat to register in the girl's mind before turning his back on her. "Follow me."

It had worked. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, only for the momentary victory to be replaced by dread. What was next? What new torture had the madman dreamed up?

They didn't go far. Down at the very end of the hall were two doors that stood side by side. Nixon paused in front of them. "Go in that one," he barked, motioning to the door on the right.

Reluctantly, she entered.

The room was small and sparse with little more in the space than a computer, desk, and a single chair. A large, plated glass window stretched across the entirety of the right side. _An observation room, _she realized.

On the other side of the window was a frighteningly familiar room. _Oh my god! _Chloe thought, suddenly very aware of why she recognized the room. It was the room she'd seen in the video sent to Lex; that first, horrible experiment she'd witnessed along with Lex, Lana, Pete, and the Kents at the Luthor mansion, back when they first realized the extent of the danger Clark was in.

How long ago had that been? She had no idea.

Nixon entered into the room behind the window and dropped Clark's body on the floor.

She swallowed, suddenly not very sure she could watch this.

Nixon locked the door behind him and entered into the observation room without a word. He completely ignored Chloe and immediately went to work at the computer and keyboard.

On the other side of the window, a small door slid open that had previously been hidden in the wall, revealing a chunk of – _what? _From this distance, Chloe couldn't see.

Whatever it was had an immediate effect.

Clark's chest heaved and he woke with a violent gasp. Both hands went to his chest and he began coughing. Choking, his lungs strained to contract air, his breathing somehow restrained.

Horrified, Chloe moved to the window, pressing both hands against the glass.

"What is that?" she asked.

Nixon sighed, as if irritated. "If you must know, it's meteor rock."

_Meteor rock?_

Her throat constricted. Meteor rock. So that's what Nixon was experimenting with.

Ever since moving to Smallville, Chloe had had her own theories about meteor rocks. She believed the alien material gave off some sort of radiation that had the ability to mutate living creatures. There were just too many weird and unexplained things that happened in Smallville to prove otherwise. She'd seen it give normal people incredible powers, like shape-shifting and teleporting. Even their football coach from freshmen year had been exposed to the meteor rocks and ended up with the ability to manipulate fire. But she'd never seen it have this kind of effect on a person; then again, there were very little known about the alien rock.

That was what made Nixon's experiments so dangerous. Didn't the madman understand that meteor rock couldn't be controlled? Every thing, every person Chloe had ever seen have some sort of contact with the extraterrestrial plague reacted differently to its radiation. Going psycho was just about the only thing victims of meteor infection had in common. That and death.

She tried not to panic, but the urge to do so was too strong. Anxiously, she looked around the room for something – _anything_ – to chuck at Nixon, her only thought to somehow knock the scientist out and shut down whatever it was he was doing to Clark.

She would even have settled for a pencil at that point but there was nothing, not even a chair at her disposal. For a moment she considered throwing herself at him again, but she had already tried that once. As much as she would have loved giving him a second black eye, she had to think about the consequences if she failed. Nixon was just starting to trust her – if she assaulted him again and didn't succeed, both she and Clark would suffer for it. He might separate them…or kill them. She didn't think he'd kill Clark, at least right away, but she was sure Nixon wouldn't hesitate getting rid of her, and Chloe had every intention of sticking around until she found a way to get him out.

She was stuck.

"Hang on, Clark," she whispered.

* * *

Pete insisted they take his car. His convertible was faster than Lana's car and if they, for any reason, needed to make a quick getaway his car would be the better deal.

"Uh, turn right up here on…Lee road," Lana said, reading the map as she spoke.

Signs for country roads in Kansas weren't always the easiest to see, especially in the less traveled areas. Pete searched the overgrowth for the sign. He found it peppered with buckshots and half hanging off its post.

"Nice," he commented, "Why doesn't somebody just steal it and put it out of its misery."

"I don't think anybody comes out this far to even do that," Lana replied.

She studied the map again. "If this is right we should be seeing the old sawmill in about a mile."

"Whoa, hold on a second," Pete said, pulling the convertible to a complete stop on the side of the road.

"What is it?" Lana asked.

Off to the side of the road, not quite hidden from view but intentionally deeper in the brush to pass by as a flat or a break down, was Chloe's little red volkswagon.

* * *

He couldn't breathe.

Clark rolled over. Eye's watering, he tried to push himself up, to no avail. His weak arms buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

Pain seared his chest. Vicious pain. Tearing at his insides. Burning like fire. Making him cringe.

Panicked, he opened his mouth, but his throat constricted painfully. He…couldn't…breathe…

"Hang on, Clark," Chloe whispered, a tear of frustration streaming down her cheek. It seemed like an eternity before a beep sounded from one of the monitors and Nixon pressed the hatch button. The shelf with the strange piece of rock on it retracted into the wall and the trap door slid shut.

Across the room, Clark collapsed to the floor. He lay still for a few moments, taking in long, deep breaths until finally the pain overwhelmed him and he rolled to his side, drawing up his knees and clutching his chest, his head down and his face twisted in agony.

"Are you finished?" Chloe asked crisply.

He didn't even look up when he answered, "Yes."

"Then let me go to him," she said. She needed to get Clark back to their cell, back to the only safety that was available to them.

He looked up at her, as if noticing for the first time she were in room. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

"Why not?" she demanded. "Your experiment is done. Let me take him back to where he can rest."

"Miss Sullivan, the radioactive levels in that room right now are dangerously high."

Chloe crossed her arms and glared at him, irritated beyond belief with the way he so casually discussed the toxicity of the room in which her friend was trapped. Through the window she saw Clark was still curled on his side. To her relief, she saw his chest rise and fall. That meant he was still breathing.

She shut her eyes, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he survived.

"How long until I can go in there?" she asked.

Nixon's fingers flew over the keyboard. "I'll let you know when I'm ready," he said.

_Ready? Ready for what? _she thought. She went back to the window, content to keep vigil over Clark even if it was through glass. Radioactive levels or no, if her friend stopped breathing she'd be out of this room and into the next if she had to throw Nixon's computer monitor through the plated glass. Besides, she had the vaguest suspicion that there was something Nixon wasn't telling her.

Chloe suppressed a shudder. Nixon couldn't be telling the whole truth. He had to be doing something to the meteor rock to make it so dangerous. There was no other explanation. Nevertheless, she had to get Clark out of there soon, before prolonged exposure to the stuff did serious damage, if serious damage hadn't been incurred already.

"Now Miss Sullivan," Nixon suddenly said, pulling her out of her thoughts. His tone was professional, as if their time together in the observation room was nothing more than an interview. "In the meantime, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Questions about what?" she asked tartly.

Her sarcasm was lost to him. "Are you from Smallville?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How old were you when the original meteor shower hit?"

"Three, why?"

"Are you familiar with meteor rocks?"

"Of course I'm familiar with meteor rocks!" she snapped. "Hello! I live in Smallville, meteor capital of the world!"

"Have you ever been exposed to the meteor rocks?"

_And this is important why?_ she thought, irritated. Never taking her eyes off her friend she let out an exasperated sigh. "No."

_Just keep him talking_, she thought sourly. Just because she'd won the first battle didn't mean she'd win the next. She was just a teenager after all, battling wits with a seasoned scientist, even if he was insane. If she could seem as if she were cooperating with him he might let his guard down. She could use that to her advantage later, she reasoned.

Nixon was taking notes. He asked a few more questions, none of them pertaining to meteor rock. She answered them best she could, all the while keeping a close eye on Clark, who hadn't yet been able to move from where he'd fallen. If he was awake she couldn't tell.

Another beep sounded from the control panel and Nixon pressed a button. "Go to him," the grizzled doctor growled, without so much as looking up.

The tone of his voice caused her pause but she dismissed it, anxious to get to her friend.

Chloe rushed out of the observation room and into the next. Clark was unconscious, his skin hot to the touch. Pressing her fingers against his throat, she felt a weak pulse. Weak, but still there.

_Slam_! Realization hit her too late. Nixon had shut the door behind her. She too, was now trapped.

Rushing to the door she began pounding on it with her fists. "Nixon! Open this door!" she screamed. When there was no answer she pounded on the window, full well knowing he could see her.

"Nixon! You promised!"

She pounded on the window one last time before becoming aware of a hissing noise; air rustling through the ventilation shafts into the room. She chided herself. She should have listened to her gut.

Would Nixon now kill them both? Were his experiments finally done?

The dizziness hit her first. She swayed, suddenly unable to hold herself upright. It was a struggle just to remain conscious. If she passed out now, it was likely she would not wake up. Breathing hard, she stumbled toward Clark.

* * *

"See anything?" Lana asked.

"Nothing," Pete answered, shutting the door to Chloe's car. "No broken windows, no scratches on the paint. Chloe wasn't forced off the road - it looks like she pulled over and parked."

Lana pursed her lips, thinking. "It doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does," Pete replied. "She's smart."

"How so? I don't call coming out into the middle of nowhere looking for an insane scientist-kidnapper _all alone_ to be very smart."

"Think about it, Lana," Pete said. "One person would attract less attention then an entire group. She probably thought that she could at least find where Clark was and come back for help."

When Lana didn't look convinced, he added, "Oh come on, you can't tell me you wouldn't be tempted to do the same thing."

She glanced back at Chloe's car. "No, I can't," she agreed. "So, what now?"

"Well, what are our options?"

"Call the cops?"

Pete shook his head. "No way. If we call the cops up in here, Chloe and Clark could be dead by the time they even get close to the place. There's just one road in and out of here – there's no telling what might happen if Nixon sees the entire Smallville Police force barreling down his road."

"You and I can't do it alone. Lex? He's got people."

He shook his head again. Not Lex, not when Clark's secret was at stake. Pete didn't even want to think about what would happen if Nixon had somehow discovered Clark's secret origins and then Lex's men stormed the place, finding everything. "I still don't know if I trust Lex," Pete said truthfully.

"So what do we do?

"Let's call Mr. Kent. He'll know what to do."

* * *

Jonathan Kent had always considered himself to be a patient man but after five days and still no word on Clark, his ability to be patient through difficult situations was beginning to wax and wane.

He stood in Lex's den, which for five days now had served as their impromptu headquarters. Tired, frustrated and desperate he ran his hand across his chin, feeling a week's worth of unshaved stubble. He was glad Martha had gone to lie down. She hadn't been able to get much sleep since Clark disappeared and the lack of rest seemed to finally be getting to her.

Not that he could talk. He was certain he could count the hours of sleep he had got on one hand.

Lex was out as well. All the better. With Jonathan's patience as thin as it was he couldn't promise himself he wouldn't lash out at the young man, just because he could.

He looked around the cluttered study. Jonathan knew it didn't look like this under normal circumstances. The pool table was littered with files, records, police reports, and photographs. Several laptop computers had been set up on Lex's desk, constantly scanning the Internet for hints or clues about Clark's disappearance. Several television monitors as well had been set up on rolling shelves beside his desk; these Jonathan was not entirely sure what their purpose was, however, he knew that Lex's resources reached further than conventional methods.

_I don't care what he does, as long as it gets my son home_, he thought raggedly.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the phone ringing. It wasn't the phone on Lex's desk - it was the one that stood on its own table next to the wet-bar. The "hotline" as Lex called it.

Jonathan crossed the room. He had to give Lex credit for the thoroughness the young man ensued. The "hotline" was a separate telephone line he had set up for the group as a focal point to communicate information about Clark's disappearance. With the entire group constantly on the move following leads, going from _Torch_ to home and back to the mansion, it would have been difficult keeping track of everyone otherwise. The "hotline" was a secure line, unmonitored and unlisted. Only Lex, Pete, Chloe, Lana, the Kents, and Sheriff Ethan had the number.

Jonathan picked up the phone. "Hello?"

Lana's voice greeted him, "Mr. Kent?"

"Hi Lana, what's up?"

"I think I know where Clark is," she said breathlessly.

Jonathan was suddenly gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Where Lana? Where is he?" he practically shouted into the phone.

"We're about a mile from the old sawmill on Lee Road. Chloe's car is here and…"

"Wait, Lana, wait," Jonathan stopped her, trying desperately to piece together everything she was saying. "What do you mean, Chloe's car's there? She's not with you?"

"Chloe didn't come home Tuesday night, Mr. Kent. We think she may have gone looking for Clark."


	13. Chapter 13

_Tremendous amounts of thanks to Poppycat123, MysticWolf1, alwayslovingsv, peasonearth1234, Farmqt, nrgirl90, marikology, trigun1509, Chlollie, and cool-people-suck. _

* * *

Jonathan Kent's voice drifted into the hall as Lex approached his study. "…all right. You two stay where you are. I'm on my way."

Even from outside the room, Lex could hear the urgency in the older man's tone. He opened the door; Mr. Kent was just hanging up the hotline phone. "Is everything all right?" he asked seriously.

Mr. Kent didn't answer. Instead he cut across the room without giving Lex a second glance and grabbed his jacket from where it lay on the pool table.

"What's going on?" Lex spoke, but Mr. Kent didn't seem to be paying attention. He zipped up his jacket and went for his keys, leading Lex to the realization that he knew something – something he wasn't willing to share, at least with Lex. That irritated him.

"Mr. Kent, please," Lex said. He controlled his voice, carefully choosing his words so as not to sound as annoyed as he currently felt. "Was it Sheriff Ethan on the phone? Because if it was, I already know about Chloe."

"No, it wasn't the Sheriff," Jonathan said brusquely. He hadn't counted on Lex walking in. This complicated things. He knew it wasn't fair to keep Lex in the dark, especially after everything he had done for them; he just wasn't sure if he trusted the younger Luthor.

It wasn't like Lex had ever done anything to him personally. _Clark trusted him_, he thought sourly. Maybe that was enough.

Trembling with a new resolve, he made up his mind. If Lex had good intentions, it was time to prove them. "Pete and Lana think they've found Clark," he answered quickly. "They're there now. I'm going to meet them."

"They've found him? Where?" Lex quickly made for his own coat and turned his full attention to the other man.

"I don't have time to explain," Jonathan said briskly. "Are you coming?"

* * *

It was almost dark by the time Lana saw Jonathan Kent's battered red pickup truck pull up beside Pete's car. To her dismay, Lex's silver Porsche rolled up behind it.

"So much for not getting Lex involved," she whispered to Pete.

"Mr. Kent's gotta know what he's doing," Pete said, smacking his lips unhappily. "At least he didn't bring in a whole platoon with him."

Mr. Kent hopped out of the truck. A grim determination had settled over the older man's grizzled features and he looked ready to fight.

Lex, on the other hand, remained eerily calm as he approached the group. For a moment, Lana wondered if his expression ever changed.

"All right kids, out with it," Jonathan said.

Pete stepped aside and allowed Lana to fill them in on all that had transpired, from her roommate's disappearance to the importance of the sawmill to finding Chloe's car.

"After we called you, I walked the rest of the way to the sawmill," Pete said when she had finished, "just to check it out. I couldn't get too close because there's a chain-link fence blocking it off. I didn't see any cars or anything, but there are car tracks going through the front gate that looked pretty recent."

Jonathan nodded. "That's good enough for me," he said. Turning his back he returned to his truck.

Lana watched as Lex pulled a small handgun from beneath his jacket. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Is that the gun that…?"

"Killed Roger Nixon?" Lex finished for her. The corner of his mouth tipped ever so slightly upward. "Yes."

Mr. Kent himself returned to the group with a hunting shotgun in hand. He fixed Pete and Chloe with a serious expression. "I'd rather you two stay out here and wait for us," he said. "We don't know what could happen in there."

"I'm coming with you," Pete answered. His mind had already been made up.

"I'm coming too," Lana said. At Mr. Kent's stern look she added, "No way I'm staying out here alone."

Jonathan knew that in reality it had nothing to do with being alone and everything to do with the fact she wasn't about to stay with the cars and let the three of them go in without her, but he let it slide. Under normal circumstances, he would have fought with the two teenagers, especially Lana, but these weren't normal circumstances. He was, perhaps, a mile or two away from his son and that knowledge had spurned an urgency in him that surpassed all logical reasoning. Pete could help, he justified to himself, and he would feel better if he could see Lana at all times.

Jonathan was suddenly grateful for the intense loyalty of his son's best friends. Standing between them he realized that all three of them were about to put their lives in jeopardy just to rescue his son. He shouldn't allow it, but the loyalty they expressed moved him and he knew they would come with him, with or without his permission.

"All right," he said gruffly. He couldn't help but note the surprised glint in Lana's eye that he was agreeing to let her come. It would have amused him had their situation been less serious. "We'll wait 'til dark, then drive up to the mill. No headlights."

"Is that a good idea?" Pete questioned. "What if Nixon hears us?"

"I'm more concerned about making a quick get-away," Jonathan answered. "You say there's a chain-link fence surrounding the place?"

"Yeah."

"I've got wire cutters in the back of my truck. We go right through the gate."

"But what about surveillance?" Pete pressed. "I didn't see any cameras, but that doesn't mean they're not there."

"We'll just have to risk it," Lex said.

Pete nodded in agreement. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all they had. Excitement was welling in him. They were going to rescue Clark!

* * *

Chloe glanced around, her vision wavering sickeningly as she moved her head. From what she could tell, she had been moved back to the infirmary. The grungy plastic curtain had been pulled across the room to separate the spaces. There was little light so she couldn't see what was behind it, if Clark was in the same room or if he had been moved. She hoped the latter, that maybe he was back in the cell. He needed to rest where Nixon couldn't harm him, but that wasn't likely.

She flexed her wrists experimentally. Sure enough, they were tied behind her back. She was gagged as well.

Glancing to her left she saw the metal table, miscellaneous tools scattered across it. She recognized a few of them but there were also others that she'd never seen. A clipboard was also lying on the edge of the table, with her name scribbled on the top of it. Beneath her name Nixon had written two words, two words that dropped ice down the base of her spine. _Meteor infected?_

Meteor infected? She wasn't meteor infected, was she? _Oh god, has Nixon been experimenting on me?_

Panicked she looked down, relief flooding through her to see that her clothes were still intact. If Nixon had been running any checks on her they had merely been surface. She shuddered to think of what the next ones would be.

_No. Nixon's deranged. I can't be a meteor freak._

A terrible thought occurred to her. Had something happened to Clark? Had the last experiment she witnessed finally killed him? Was that the reason why she was strapped to this chair? Was she Nixon's next victim?

The prospective thought frightened her and gave her a surge of adrenaline. She struggled against her bonds, pulling against them with all her might. Unfortunately, all her might had been severely decreased and she was still weak from whatever it was Nixon had used on her. Sagging back into her chair, breathing hard, she felt tears sting her eyes.

She had to think of something…

* * *

Jonathan Kent crouched beside the fence surrounding the old sawmill. He nodded to Lex who, in turn, began to lead the way toward the gate. Lex had offered to take the lead, giving the older man the option of keeping up the rear. Jonathan agreed. It would allow him to keep an eye on Lana and Pete from the back but also, in the back of his mind, he knew that he also didn't want it to be Lex behind them all. He chided himself for still not trusting the younger Luthor, especially after everything he had already done for their family, but his gut had never led him astray and his gut constantly told him to be wary of Lex Luthor.

There were no guards or patrols that they had seen - just the empty lot. Jonathan motioned to Pete who handed him the wire cutters and began cutting a hole into the chain-link fence. It didn't take long to cut a slit in the fence large enough to fit his body through. Motioning to the others, they all crept inside one by one, Lex first, then Pete, Lana, and finally Jonathan.

It was so quiet; only the sounds of the woods around them reached their ears. Cautiously, they made their way inside the mill.

Inside the building, they turned on their flashlights.

"Look!" Lana whispered excitedly, pointing to a small shoe-print in the sawdust on the floor of the warehouse. It looked like a small, high-heeled boot. "That's got to be Chloe!"

"She's here," Jonathan affirmed. "That can only mean that Clark's here, too."

"But where?" Lana said. "This place is huge."

"Listen, why don't we split up?" Lex suggested. "We'll cover more ground if we do."

Jonathan shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm game," Pete said. "I'll take Lana and go that way."

Reluctantly, Jonathan nodded. "Fine," he said, pointing in another direction. "Lex, take that hall. I'll finish up in here."

He didn't like them splitting up but at least Pete and Chloe wouldn't be on their own with Lex.

* * *

Nixon glanced up from his computer. The Sullivan girl had regained consciousness. After a few tests he had been intrigued to find that she as well seemed to be a "stable" meteor-mutant. Perhaps Mr. Kent was not at all that special. Still, there was something keeping the kid alive when he should have died a long time ago. None of Nixon's previous "failed" experiments had lasted more than the first few days.

The Kent boy was made of sterner stuff, something altogether inhumane. There was no other explanation.

Without warning, his perimeter alarm began to sound.

* * *

Lex gripped the flashlight so tightly in his hand that he could feel the plastic creak. In his other hand he gripped the revolver, holding both of them in front of him in the classic police-search style. He moved carefully from room to room, his senses on alert for any signs of danger. There were only a few more rooms to check down this hall. So far, every room he'd searched had drawn a blank.

He looked into the second to last door, shining the flashlight inside. Empty.

Had they been wrong? Had Nixon already escaped? Had he taken Clark?

One more room. Moving as silently as possible, Lex crept down the hall to the last door. The lights were off, the same as the other rooms. He shone the flashlight inside.

The interior of the room had been converted in a makeshift laboratory. Test tubs, beakers, retorts, and other chemical apparatus were arranged on rolling metal shelves. A dingy plastic sheet dangled from the ceiling of the room, dividing the chamber into separate compartments.

Photos, maps, and scribbled notes were plastered all over the wall. A computer monitor, looking quite old and out-dated, sat on a metal shelf to the left of an upturned observation table. From where he stood in the doorway, Lex could see no one in the room. Meticulously taking everything in, he focused on the screen. It wasn't a computer screen at all, but a heart monitor.

With the observation table upturned like that it was possible for someone to be hiding behind it.

Moving cautiously, Lex crept into the room, peering around the upturned table.

There was no one hiding behind it; there was a person strapped to it.

Lex's heart sank.

Stripped to the waist, Clark hung limply from shackles binding his wrists above his head. His ankles as well were manacled to the table. He was battered, bruised, and barely breathing.

"Oh god, Clark!" Lex gasped. All pretense of danger instantly forgotten, Lex holstered the gun and rushed to his friend.

Reaching up, Lex released one of Clark's wrists from the manacles that bound him. His arm fell heavily. He was scarcely conscious; his head hung, his eyes closed. Lex said his name over and over, hoping somehow his friend would answer him.

But he did not.

Rapidly, he unlocked the other manacle, gently catching the younger man's body as he slumped forward. He used his strength to ease and slow down his fall. Speed was of the essence, and yet every movement had to be considerably delicate and carefully planned or he might do him further damage. Clark clutched his friend and together they sank to the floor.

* * *

"Clark?"

Someone was calling him.

"Clark?"

Calling, almost pleading with him. He had to wake up.

"Come on...Clark…"

One of his arms dropped. Then the other. With nothing to hold him up, Clark slumped forward, falling limply on whatever it was in front of him. He felt strong arms envelope him. He grasped onto them weakly and together, they sank to the floor

His awareness wavered. His head ached. His body ached. Pictures swirled in his mind, then went dark. He thought he saw Lex. But it couldn't be Lex. Nobody knew where he was…unless…

Lex was still talking to him.

His voice was frightened.

Clark wheezed in a painfully deep breath. Wearily, he tried to open his eyes but he couldn't.

"Clark?" his friend called again, sounding desperate.

"…Lex?…" he managed to croak.

Lex didn't bother hiding the relief in his voice. They'd found him. Clark was alive. "Yeah buddy, it's me," he said.

Talking was an incredible effort and he had to wait until he had the strength to speak again. "Where's…where's Chloe?" he wheezed.

"Don't talk, Clark," Lex answered briskly. He didn't want to tell him that they hadn't found her yet. It would only cause him to worry.

Although he didn't want to move him, Lex knew that if they didn't move fast their window of escape could close, and Clark needed medical attention. His eyes had already glazed over and he seemed on the verge of passing out again.

He pulled Clark to his feet, taking care to move slowly enough to allow his friend time to get his bearings. Clark swayed unsteadily. "Easy Clark," Lex directed.

With one arm around Clark's shoulder, Lex urged him toward to laboratory door. Too weak to make it on his own, Clark leaned heavily against him.

"Stay with me, okay?" Lex said, trying to encourage Clark to stay awake.

"How…how did you find…"

"You? I don't know exactly. We'll have to ask Pete and Lana."

"They're…they're here?"

"Yeah, so is your dad. We…"

He never finished. Something hard slammed into the back of his head. Lex fell, his body hitting one of the rolling metal shelves, causing it to flip over and scatter papers, books, beakers, and test tubes everywhere.

Nixon cursed as he threw down the fire extinguisher. He picked Clark up from the ground, hastily tying the boy's hands behind his back. When the kid had fallen he'd hit his head on the concrete, a nasty gash trickling blood on his right temple. Nixon paid it no mind. It would heal before they were out of the building.

He recognized the intruder as the Luthor boy. If he was right, others would have come with him and it would only be a matter of time before the police followed. _They must have followed the girl! _he thought, his mood going from sour to irate. He knew he should have gotten rid of her. But as it was, his work might be lost. If he could just get away with the kid, he could start over somewhere else. _Forget the girl. Take the kid and run._

He'd have to leave his notes. As much as it pained him to do so, he'd have to rely on what was in his head.

Hastily he filled his pockets with extra reserves of the diluted meteor solution. He'd need them to keep control over his prisoner's state. The bracelet would keep the kid weak but still, he didn't want to take any chances.

His mind mulled over the evacuation procedures he'd planned. He'd have to stop by the observation room and activate the systems virus that would destroy all his research once somebody tried to activate it. It would take precious time, but it had to be done. Once he was safely outside, he'd burn the place. Nobody could be allowed to find his notes. Nobody was taking this world into the next wave of technology except him.

Pushing Clark ahead of him, he ushered the kid out the door. Clark barely had the strength to stand, let alone walk. He stumbled and hit the floor on his knees. Cursing, Nixon picked him up, pushing him forward again.


	14. Chapter 14

_Thank you so much to Farmqt, nrgirl90, ArwenGreenEyes, peasonearth1234, alwayslovingsv, MysticWolf1, supernatfem76, Chlollie, and Lil chap welsh nd proud for reviewing on my Chapter 13._

* * *

"Mr. Kent!" Pete called, jogging up beside him, Lana at his side.

"Find anything?" the older man asked.

"Nothing," he answered.

Lana shivered. The section of the mill she and Pete searched had obviously been abandoned for years. All they found were piles of caved in rubble and rusted machinery.

"Heard anything from Lex?"

"No. He was supposed to search this area," Mr. Kent replied, shining his flashlight down the last hall. "He hasn't come back yet."

"You think something happened to him?" Lana asked.

Mr. Kent drew his brows together. "There's only one way to find out. Come on."

Sticking together, the three of them searched the halls, every room coming up blank.

Shining the flashlight into the last room, Jonathan gave a start. Beside him, Pete whistled. "Whoa," he said, "Where's all Frankenstein's body parts?"

Jonathan couldn't help but concur. There was a metal observation table at the center of the room, swung upright. Computers and other miscellaneous technology surrounded it, looking old and outdated. There were medical tools scattered everywhere and papers, test tubes, and shattered glass littering the floor.

Someone had left in a hurry. Shining the light on the manacles on the observation table, he grimaced. "Something tells me that table wasn't used to study monkeys," Pete voiced.

The thought made Jonathan's blood run cold. He hoped they weren't too late.

"Wait, Mr. Kent…" Pete touched his arm. He was pointing at the ground.

A small puddle of blood glistened where Pete's flashlight beam touched the floor. It was smudged, like whoever it was who had made the stain had either been roughly pulled up or dragged away. Several feet away from the puddle was a hand, half buried beneath papers from an upturned table. To his dismay, Jonathan saw the hand belonged to Lex Luthor.

Rushing to him, Jonathan and Pete dropped to his side.

"Lex! You okay?"

Lex blinked unsteadily and focused his eyes. "Mr. Kent…" he said.

"What happened?" asked Pete.

Not waiting for an answer, Jonathan rushed on, "Did you find Clark?"

"Yeah," he said as Pete helped him to his feet. Jonathan's heart leapt within his chest. _Clark was alive!_

"Where is he?" Pete exclaimed. "Is he still here?"

"Nixon must have taken him," Lex said, rubbing the back of his neck. "We gotta find him fast. He didn't look like he'd last much longer."

Jonathan nodded. So close…they were so close now…All they had to do was find them. Nixon couldn't move fast, not if Clark was in the condition Lex described.

Just then, a scuffling noise broke the silence. Pete shined his light on the curtain behind them.

"Guys?" he said.

"I heard it too," Jonathan answered, stepping in front of Lex. He cocked the shotgun, raising it at eye level and aiming it toward the curtain.

Dread filled Pete even as he reached out and pulled the hanging material aside. _Please God, don't let me see Clark's dead body behind this curtain_, he prayed.

But it wasn't Clark. It was…

"Chloe!" Lana cried, already moving to untie her.

"Thank god!" Chloe gasped when the gag was removed.

"Boy, are you a sight for sore eyes," Pete said happily.

"Clark…oh god…We've gotta find him," Chloe rambled, slurring slightly.

Pete steadied her when she stood. She was bruised and exhausted; her eyes a bit unfocused and groggy. He was about to say something when Mr. Kent did it for him.

"You're not going anywhere but to safety," the older man instructed. "All right. Lana, I want you to take Lex and Chloe to the car. Someone needs to be there anyway in case Nixon makes it that far. Pete and I will keep searching."

"I'm fine," Lex insisted.

Jonathan didn't look convinced. He would have insisted that Lex go to the car anyway but he was sure the young billionaire wouldn't listen. He cared too much about Clark and they were too close to stop now. "You sure?" he asked him.

He nodded, already moving to pick his revolver up off the ground, only to find that that too, had been taken.

"Maybe this time it's best we stick together," Pete said. "This dude's dangerous and he's got the advantage of familiar ground."

"I agree," Jonathan said. He turned to Lana and Chloe, "You girls gonna be all right?"

Lana took Chloe's arm. "I've got her. You go."

"No! I'm going with you!" Chloe snapped, jerking her arm away from her friend.

"Absolutely not," Jonathan practically shouted at her. He hated raising his voice, but Chloe had to know just how serious their situation was. She had obviously been either knocked out or drugged; taking her with them would only slow them down and risk her safety.

Chloe wilted. It hadn't been an angry shout, but it told her there would be no arguing. Lana took her arm again and, this time, she allowed her to lead her out.

* * *

Nixon punched the final code into the computer. The system's virus he had created was now operational. If anyone tried to access the information, should any of his equipment survive the fire that is, it would immediately shut down.

He turned back to his captive, on his knees and leaning heavily against the wall. It was time to go.

* * *

Lex limped slightly but he pushed on without complaint. The trio said nothing as they continued searching.

At the end of the hall they found more blood on the floor, this time in droplets. Jonathan bent down to shine the flashlight on them, touching a red mark with the tip of his finger.

"They can't be far ahead," he announced, standing.

* * *

Lana had heard that patience was a virtue, but this was ridiculous. Chloe was practically wearing a path into the grass with her pacing. She couldn't blame her. Although a part of her wanted to remain with the car where it was safe, a part of her also wanted to be inside the mill with the guys searching for Clark.

She looked sideways at Chloe. Her blonde friend looked a little worse-for-the-wear, but she was more coherent now than she had been when they'd found her. She was still wearing the same clothes Lana had last seen her in at the _Torch _on Tuesday, only now they were torn, dirty, and smudged with blood that wasn't her own.

She had to be freezing. Moving to the rear of Pete's car, Lana popped the trunk and found a heavy flannel jacket. _Probably his dad's_, she thought dully. It looked a size or two bigger, plus she couldn't imagine Pete wearing plaid. That was always Clark's ballpark. She also found a baseball bat. She snatched that one too, just in case. She gave the jacket to Chloe, who stopped pacing long enough to accept it. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Chloe hated waiting.

* * *

Pete put out his hand, stopping them. "Wait. I think I hear something."

He edged around a large chunk of fallen ceiling. The room in which they found themselves was large and filled with old, rusty factory equipment. Only a small amount of light came from the dirty fluorescents high above.

Jonathan strained to hear, not for the first time wishing he had his son's super-hearing. Or his X-ray vision for that matter.

"There!" Lex said, pointing.

At the far end of the expanse two figures could be seen. Jonathan squinted to see them: one man was dressed in a grungy white lab coat and he couldn't see his face. The other…

Jonathan's heart skipped a beat. _Clark!_

The man had Clark roughly by the arm and was forcing him to move ahead of him. Barely on his own two feet, Clark staggered awkwardly forward, only to be pulled back by his captor.

As one, Pete, Jonathan and Lex broke into a sprint.

Clark's hands were tied behind his back and Jonathan watched in horror as he stumbled and fell to his knees.

"Nixon!" Jonathan shouted.

The man whirled around, his hand immediately vanishing in his jacket pocket. Too weak to hold himself up, Clark slumped forward, held up only by Nixon's firm grip on his arm.

Jonathan did a quick once-over on his boy. Clark was barely conscious, his head hanging limply in front of him. He had a gash on his temple, blood running down the side of his face and dripping onto his bare chest. He didn't see any major injures, but they wouldn't be able to tell until they got him to safety.

"Let him go, Nixon," Lex said, his voice low and threatening. Jonathan had never heard him use that tone before. He was amazed how quickly his attitude and demeanor had changed.

"Just like a Luthor," Nixon said, pulling a small handgun out of his pocket. It was Lex's gun. He jabbed it at them. "Always demanding."

Lex scowled. "You're through. The police are on their way."

"That's all right," Nixon shot back. He yanked on Clark's arm, causing the kid to take in a sharp, agonizing breath. "We'll be long gone by the time they get here."

Cringing, Jonathan saw Lex's eyes go wide with worry. He inched forward, lowering his gun as he did so. "Listen, we can work something out. Just let my son go."

Nixon took a step backward, pulling Clark back as well. "Were you aware just how unique your son is, Mr. Kent?" he asked

Jonathan remained deadpan. "We're not playing games, Nixon. Let him go."

"Because you know what I think? I think you did." He indicated to Lex as well. "You were both in on it. You and Luthor. That's why you killed my brother. Roger found out your little secret so you killed him in order to protect it."

Jonathan traded confused looks with Lex. Nixon had struck a little too close to home for his comfort. He had to take the light off of Clark, before Lex grew too suspicious.

Lex, however, was already intrigued. "What secret?" he ventured.

Nixon lowered his voice ominously. "That young Mr. Kent here isn't human."

Jonathan swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Nixon had proclaimed his theory with such conviction and certainty that if there had been any reason for Lex to suspect Clark, this would only add fuel to his fire. To his surprise, however, Lex laughed.

"Don't laugh," Nixon grumbled, shifting the gun to point from Jonathan to Lex to Pete. "He has incredible strength and his skin is impenetrable."

Lex looked at Clark, then back at Nixon. "I'm sorry, but right now his skin doesn't look impenetrable to me."

Nixon tightened his grip on Clark's arm. "Easy, easy," Jonathan said. They had to calm the man down; had to shift gears. Upsetting his son's captor at this point would only endanger him.

"Stop looking at me like I'm some mad scientist!" Nixon snarled. "This is my life's work!"

"Of course it is," Jonathan said evenly. "But there's nothing special about that boy. Now why don't you just put the gun down and we can talk about..."

"You think I'm lying?" Nixon asked incredulously. "My brother died because of this kid! This kid isn't human and I'll prove it!"

He moved the gun from pointing at Jonathan to Clark's upper shoulder.

"Mr. Kent!" Pete cried.

Jonathan brought his shotgun up, but not in time. Nixon fired before he could aim.

Clark shrieked in pain. Reacting instinctively, Jonathan fired his own shotgun at the attacker, who yelped sharply as the bullet struck him directly in his own shoulder. Blood spouted from his coat and the wounded man stumbled backwards.

Convinced Nixon was no longer a threat, Jonathan rushed to his son, followed close at the heels by Pete and Lex. He dropped down beside Clark and gently lifted his body, frantically checking his wounds.

"This can't be!" Nixon cried. "This isn't right. The tests…he should have…it shouldn't have been possible…!"

Lex silenced him with a punch to his jaw. Already weak from loss of blood, Nixon passed out.

Jonathan slapped his son's face. "Come on, Clark! Come on son!"

The gaping red bullet wound would have been enough to send an ordinary human being into shock. Jonathan prayed that Clark's body still had enough healing power left in it to sustain him.

* * *

"Oh god! Did you hear that?" Chloe cried.

"Gunshots!" Lana confirmed. Shaking violently, she retrieved her cell phone out of her coat pocket. "That does it, I'm calling the police."


	15. Chapter 15

Even dazed, Clark could hear his father straining to contain his terror. "Come on Clark! Come on son!"

Clark's head was spinning, aching, perhaps exploding for all he could tell. But it was his father's voice! With painstaking effort he brought his one-eyed vision into focus, discerning a face – his father's face.

"Dad?"

"Clark!"

Suddenly his hands were free.

"It's not serious, but we've gotta stop the bleeding," he heard Lex say from somewhere at his side.

"I can't…feel…my shoulder," Clark breathed.

"We've gotta get you to a hospital," someone said. Clark thought it sounded like Pete.

Jonathan hesitated, wondering if he dared take his injured son to an emergency room. Had Clark been human his injuries could become life threatening without serious medical attention. But Clark wasn't human.

Jonathan stole a glance at Lex. They had narrowly escaped Nixon's convictions unscathed; if he refused to take his son now then there really _would _be suspicions. Just what had Nixon done to his boy to make him…vulnerable?

Regardless, Clark had injuries that were beyond his ability to heal. His mind was made up – they'd _have _to take Clark to the hospital. There was no getting around it. They would just have to deal with whatever happened – as a family.

As gently as they could manage, Jonathan and Lex helped Clark to his feet and they stumbled together out of the building.

* * *

Lana peered through the darkness toward the abandoned sawmill to see three figures limping toward them. Her heart sank. There were only three._ They didn't find Clark. Oh god, was someone hurt? Were we too late? _

But as the figures drew closer, her face registered a mixture of shock and elation. "Clark!" she cried.

"Clark!" Chloe echoed.

It was the first time Lana had seen him in over a week and only Chloe's brief description of his condition had prepared her for what she saw. It was taking all of his concentration not to collapse again but both Lex and his father had him on either side and he was leaning heavily on them. Only Pete was missing.

Dropping the baseball bat, Lana jumped up. Both girls ran to them. When he heard their voices Clark lifted his head enough to see. Lana got to him first and hugged him fiercely. "Ow, ow, ow," he said sharply.

But she was so happy all she could do was laugh. "Sorry," she said, then stepped aside to give Chloe some room.

Chloe rushed forward and embraced him. Lex let go of Clark, allowing him to wrap his good arm around her. He held her and she cried on his chest. It was all coming out now, all of her tension and fear. Despite himself, Clark stroked her hair.

Lana took the moment to turn to Mr. Kent. "What happened?" she asked, indicating to his bandaged shoulder. The material that had been tied around Clark's shoulder was blood-soaked and looked fractionally like it had once been Pete's favorite sweater. _Pete! _"Scratch that. What happened to Pete?"

"He's all right," Mr. Kent said. His mind raced for an excuse. He couldn't tell her the _real _reason Pete had lagged behind. "Somebody had to tie up Nixon," he said flatly.

"We heard shots," Chloe said, her eyes filled with tears as she pulled away from Clark. "We called the police."

"Good," Mr. Kent replied, "Then that means they're on their way."

"We should get Clark to a hospital," Chloe said, putting her hand on Clark's cheek.

"I agree," Mr. Kent replied. Just then, Pete appeared behind him.

Jonathan glanced at Pete, then at Chloe. "Chloe, would you go start my truck please?" he asked, fishing his keys out of his pocket and handing them to her. "Pete and I will get Clark over there."

Chloe frowned. It was obvious she didn't want to leave Clark. Jonathan couldn't help but wonder at what the two of them had been through over the last few days. "Yeah," she finally agreed.

Jonathan didn't have to say any more than that for Pete to understand. He moved to Clark's side once she had gone and placed his shoulder under his friend's arm. Clark gratefully leaned against him and together they walked him injured-player style toward the truck.

"Did you get it all?" Jonathan whispered. He knew that Pete would understand that he was talking about all of Nixon's notes on Clark. Before they had left the building, Jonathan made sure that Pete stayed behind to destroy all the evidence on his boy.

"Everything I could find," Pete answered. "He did most of it for us."

Mr. Kent breathed a sigh of relief. "How'd you get rid of it?"

"Burned it."

Jonathan turned so that he could see the young man, who proved every day just how good of a friend he was to his son. "Thank you," he said earnestly.

Pete smiled. "No problem, Mr. Kent. Just remind me never to get on your bad side. You were scary with that shotgun."

Jonathan laughed. For the first time in over a week, he felt his spirits rising. Clark wasn't out of the water yet, but he was alive and out of immediate danger.

They limped toward the truck when suddenly, Clark's knees buckled and he wilted. A tortured moan escaping from his lips, he collapsed in their arms.

"Son? Son!" Jonathan cried. Together, he and Pete lowered him to the ground.

"What's happening?" Pete asked.

Clark squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to keep the pain at bay but it did no good. He was too weak to focus and had lost too much blood. He cried out, clutching his abdomen as he doubled over in pain.

* * *

Jonathan's heart wrenched in terror as Clark crumpled to the ground. He recognized his son's reaction to meteor rock immediately. Pete must have recognized it as well because he immediately began searching the ground around them for the source. "Where is it?" he cried, panicked.

"Clark!" Jonathan shouted, a million different scenarios racing through his mind. He slapped his son's face, desperate to keep the boy conscious. Clark spasmed in pain, forcing Jonathan to run through all the times he had ever seen his son come in contact with the deadly green meteors. He had seen everything from Clark getting sick to losing consciousness completely, but never had he seen a reaction this severe. How much Clark was affected by the alien substance depended on how much of the meteor he was exposed to and how close he was to it. There either had to be a whole lot of it around or the size of the piece was substantial enough to cause this kind of reaction. Either way – something of that magnitude shouldn't have been hard to miss.

"His shoulder! It's bleeding again," Pete said, frantic. He covered the bullet wound in his friend's shoulder and immediately began applying pressure. Whatever it was, it was strong enough to undo the healing that had already taken place to the wound.

Jonathan was close to panicking when Chloe suddenly cried. "It's the bracelet! We've got to get it off of him! Hurry!"

Sure enough, when Jonathan lifted his son's hand he saw the spidery veins beneath the skin wiggling and throbbing as the deadly venom unleashed its poison. _The meteor rock is being directly injected into his system! _Jonathan realized.

He pulled at the metallic bracelet, desperate to get it off of his son, but it didn't budge. "We've got to cut it off!" he cried.

* * *

Lex had been standing by his Porsche on the phone with father, who was demanding to know why Lex hadn't returned any of his calls for the past week, when he saw Clark collapse. Without even thinking he shut the cell phone and took off running toward him. He would get it later, he knew. His father would not have approved. Lionel would have said that Lex needed to get his priorities straight and friends were just a liability. "_There are no friends in business, son, only enemies and acquaintances."_

Why had he even answered the phone?

_I know where my priorities lay, Dad,_ he thought bitterly and his concern for the well being of his best friend was at the top of the list, business be damned.

Chloe's voice penetrated the panic. "It's the bracelet! We've got to get it off of him. Hurry!"

"It's solid metal. We've got to cut if off!" Mr. Kent cried.

Not understanding, but also not caring, Lex sprang for the gate where they had left Mr. Kent's wire-cutters by the fence.

It was supposed to be over. They had found Clark. Everything was supposed to be all right. What was happening?

By the time he reached his friend, Clark had passed out.

* * *

_**2 Days Later**_

Chloe was beginning to think that the Smallville Medical Center was her second home. She had been here more in the past two years than she had in any hospital her entire life, whether it be as a patient herself or seeing someone who was.

No one bothered her as she wove her way through the sanitized halls of the all-too familiar hospital. She had been released yesterday, with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises to show for it. Clark, on the other hand, was still in for a while.

She paused outside his room to take a deep breath. She could see him through the window. It looked like he was asleep.

Doctor Helen Bryce was standing next to his bed, speaking quietly to an orderly. After the ambulance had arrived to pick Clark up from where he had collapsed at the mill, Mr. Kent had demanded Bryce be the doctor to see him. She had been called in specially and had not left his side nor handed him over to any of her colleagues since his arrival.

_ Mr. Kent must really be against doctors_, she thought sourly. She had almost expected him to refuse to even take Clark to the hospital. And why Dr. Bryce? What did Mr. Kent see in her? This wasn't the first time the man had made the odd request of his family seeing one doctor and one doctor only. Earlier in the year when both Mrs. Kent and Clark had fallen ill after inhaling some sort of toxin, unidentifiable and presumably fatal, Dr. Bryce had been the only doctor to see both of them. Clark, in fact, hadn't even been taken to the hospital. Lana had told her later that Mr. Kent insisted she come to the house.

She stood outside the room until Dr. Bryce and the orderly came through the door. "I don't understand why you won't release his records," the orderly said, his voice heated.

"His records won't be released and that's final," she snapped. It was apparent this wasn't the first time they had had this discussion. It was also apparent neither one of them were aware of Chloe's presence.

The orderly frowned. "You can't be here all the time for the rest of week. Dr. Brekken is more than qualified…"

She silenced him with the tone of her voice. "I'll be on call. Now go check on Ayers in Room 324. He's due for his meds at noon."

Reluctantly, the orderly obeyed.

Dr. Bryce herself turned to head down the hall when Chloe stepped out and caught her. "Dr. Bryce?"

The older woman turned, her stony expression melting into polite smile when she saw her. "Miss Sullivan. I see you're out and about."

Chloe could tell her smile was hollow…not unfriendly, just…distracted?

"Yeah. I got out yesterday and was just stopping by to see Clark. Is he awake?"

The older woman glanced through the window without turning her body. An odd gesture, one that Chloe caught but chose not to dwell on. After all, it was rumored that Dr. Bryce was now seeing the one and only Lex Luthor. Perhaps that was the reason she was single-handedly treating Clark; maybe Lex was paying her to give him special care.

"He's not awake now but you're welcome to wait in the room with him."

"I'll do that," Chloe replied. "Um, can I ask when he'll be able to go home?"

"A few days, maybe a week," she answered. She glanced at the window again. "He's been through a lot. It's going to take some time."

"What about the stuff I saw Nixon give him? It hasn't poisoned him or anything, has it?"

"Well, whatever it was, it hasn't been good for him. Clark's pretty resilient but it's still affecting his progress. He's not healing as fast as he should be."

"What do you mean?"

Dr. Bryce seemed to realize what she had said and chose to not elaborate further. "Nevermind."

Chloe frowned. She had hoped Dr. Bryce would tell her more. "There's no permanent damage, though, right?" she asked.

The older woman gave a small nod and her tone shifted from clinical to compassionate, "He'll be back on his feet in no time."

"All right. Thanks, doctor."

Dr. Bryce nodded and left.

Now alone, her hand on the door, Chloe toyed with the thought of coming back later. But could she do it later? Would she lose her nerve?

Being in the hospital for two days with nothing to do after such a life-threatening situation had given her time to think.

Steeling herself, she pulled the door open. Clark was lying his hospital bed, eyes closed. When he heard the door open, however, he woke.

"Morning sunshine," Chloe said.

Clark smiled. "Morning? Have you looked at the clock lately?"

Just hearing his banter made Chloe feel as if an invisible weight was lifted from her shoulders. Clark was going to be just fine.

The smile she gave in return was bright and genuine. "You know, considering you're in a hospital bed and I'm not, I'd be nice to me if I were you." She fixed him with a playful look before turning serious once again. "How are you feeling?"

"Alive," he said flippantly. He waved his hand at all the tubes and monitors he was currently hooked up to. "Never thought I'd be so happy to be in a hospital."

"Well I'm happy to be _out_ of the hospital, thankyouverymuch," she replied, taking a seat next to his bed.

"You just stopping in to check on me?" he asked.

"Yes. But also I…well…I need to talk to you."

Clark drew his brows into an arch on his forehead. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

Chloe couldn't help but smile. _Leave it to a Kent to be worried about someone else while they're lying in a hospital bed._

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered. "We just…we haven't really talked about what happened since we've been out and…"

Clark's lips formed a tight line at her loss of words. He knew what she wanted to bring up. He could tell by the way her eyes darted around the room, unconsciously trying to look at anything but him.

Since their rescue it had been all he'd thought about, too.

Well, Chloe had been all he'd thought about. Now safe and sound and out of danger, he was able to look back and realize just how far she had been willing to go for him – how far she had gone for him. She had risked her life to find him, risked her freedom to stay with him, had cared for him and comforted him when he thought he was going to die.

He had never felt as close to Chloe as he did now. Sure, they had tried dating before the spring tornado, but it had been a "high-school" relationship – all giggles and looks and playful banter – there had never been any passion. Being imprisoned together had opened his eyes to a passion of a different kind. It was nothing like what he thought he felt for Lana. His passion for Lana was…well…_one-sided_. As much as Lana cared for him, she never reciprocated his same feelings. It was different with Chloe…Chloe _gave_.

It was odd. For just a few seconds, alone in the cell, Chloe had felt so right in his arms. He had reached out…touched her cheek…and despite their harrowing situation, when he held Chloe, nothing else in the world seemed to matter.

But was he fooling himself? There had been no barriers between them in that little cell; no hope of ever escaping. What if the passion they shared for that brief moment had been nothing more than two people afraid of dying alone?

What if it hadn't been real, but imagined? After all, Chloe had broken up with him. She said they were better off friends.

Then there was his secret. He could never share the secret of his origins with Chloe. He couldn't bear to be rejected by her, to have her look at him like he was some kind of monster.

Chloe was clearly struggling for words. Finally, she took his hand in hers and let out a deep breath. "There was a moment in there…a moment we shared…"

Clark shifted uncomfortably in his bed. "A moment?" he asked. It was all he could think of to say.

Chloe studied him hard before finally asking, "How much do you remember?"

There it was – his outlet, his escape route. They could move past this, he and Chloe could continue being friends and he wouldn't have to hear her tell him that what they shared in that little room had not been real.

"I uh…I remember you coming to save me. I remember you telling me to keep talking to stay awake."

"And the experiments?"

He snorted. "Barely. I remember being in pain, wondering if I was going to make it."

"What about in that room? On the last day we were together?"

Clark feigned deep thought. Of course he remembered. How would he ever forget? Feeling Chloe, breathing her in, losing himself in her eyes…

Frowning, he said, "I don't remember anything after us talking about what we were afraid of."

* * *

Chloe sat back in her seat, feeling as if an anvil had been dropped in her lap. Clark didn't remember…he didn't remember their "moment". The way he had looked at her, the way his hands had remained on her arms instead of pulling away.

It wasn't fair. For once, Clark hadn't been looking at Lana – he'd been looking at her.

There was so much in that brief second that could never have been explained. Up until that point, Chloe had never been entirely sure of their relationship together. She had always cared for Clark, and she knew deep down that he had always cared for her, but something had always kept them apart, some barrier between them that always stood strong and unyielding. Until now, Chloe had thought that barrier had been Lana.

But there, in that little room, that barrier came crashing down.

For once in their relationship, Clark had held nothing back from her.

And now it was as if those barriers had never come down. They were back to square one.

Chloe nodded, feeling tears well up in her eyes. Should she tell him what they shared? Should she tell him that she wanted to be with him?

Everything in her screamed yes, but there was that small part of her that knew that if she was to be with Clark, it would have to be him to bring down those barriers. They would never fully come down otherwise.

"Nevermind then," she said sadly.

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" he asked. Was it just her, or did he sound like he wanted her to bring it up?

"You've been through so much," she said truthfully. She sat his tubed hand down and placed a hand on his cheek. "Get some rest," she said softly.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Alone in his study, Lex Luthor sat at his desk, his face a mask of cold contemplation, staring out the stained-glass window. The Luthor mansion was quiet tonight, save for the rain battering against the castle. The Kents had moved out, the police pulled their station, and Derek Nixon had been sentenced to life in Belle Reeve. All was well in the world. His den had been cleaned up as well, back to looking as spotless and…lifeless as usual.

What was life anyway, without a little chaos…a little mystery?

Sitting back in his chair, Lex reached into his jacket, drawing something round and the color of gray out of the inner pocket. He held the object in his hands, studying it like a priceless heirloom: the severed bracelet, cut from Clark's wrist on the night of his rescue.

Never taking his eyes from the metal object, he said aloud, "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing sir," the tinny voice coming from the speakerphone answered. "Nixon destroyed everything."

"Keep searching," he replied.

Indeed, what was life without a little mystery?

* * *

_Well, what did you think? I'm dying to know! Please, if you've kept up with my story and haven't reviewed yet, won't you please consider hitting that cute little purple button down there? Even if it's just a one-liner! All comments are welcome and appreciated._

_I just had to save the best for last – to my AWESOME reviewers – SUPER THANKS to you all! Especially to BlackAsHesPainted, MysticWolf1, Lil chap welsh nd proud, marianne Reznik, marikology, ArwenGreenEyes, cool-people-suck, mamaXunicorn, peasonearth1234, Dragon Rider of Alagaesia, trigun1509, alwayslovingsv, murderesslotus, supernatfem76, Sandy Murray, and Poppycat123 for reviewing my Chapter 14. I appreciate your encouraging words, suggestions, and creative ways to make me laugh (thanks Farmqt!)._


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